The Road Not Taken: Philosopher's Stone
by Marduk42
Summary: OotP Spoilers ahead: A choice was made many years ago. If Voldemort had chosen differently, the path of these lives would be very different.
1. The Beginning

They say that when traveling down the path of life, you will come to forks in the road. Some then say that taking a fork causes a split in the universe, a moment of duality, when a new world is created, one which follows the world as it *would* be, if one thing had happened differently.  
  
Many years ago, a man made a choice. He was presented with two options, and he took one. This choice resulted in the death of two very heroic people, the imprisonment of an innocent, honorable man, and the isolation of perhaps one of the most decent men alive, whose only fault was the result of a terrible accident when he was a child. As a result of this choice, a small boy was thrown away from a world that understood him, surrounded by people who feared what he was, and loathed his very existence. Many things happened as a result of this choice, but one thing in particular catches our eye. The boy mentioned above was made a hero, because he survived something horrific. But on one fateful summer night, he lost the most important person in his life, one of the last ties to his past. In that moment, we wonder...what *could* have happened, had the man mentioned above made the *other* choice. Worlds branch from that moment, that choice...  
  
*  
  
The darkness was shattered by the light, the sound of the explosion. Men and women who had been living in fear for years leapt from sleep, wands clutched in their hands. But even as they moved to doors, listening, praying for some sort of reprieve, Westing Avenue rang with the sound of lesser spells discharging on the street. One house was the focus of these spells, a place that should have been invisible, that the men in black robes and hideous masks should not have seen, much less entered. Inside this house, a large family was mobilized, trying to find a way to fight -- or flee.  
  
A round-faced woman stood by a crib, holding a thin wand in her right hand; it was a long, willowy wand almost glowing in the dark room. Beside her stood a tall, wide-shouldered man, holding a stouter wand, and watching the door warily. With little warning, the door exploded inward, accompanied by a flash of red light.  
  
"Get away from me-BY MERLIN!" The two adults pulled back from the door. A man dressed in black glided into the room, holding before him a branch of yew; a green glow hovered at its tip. The tight skin around the man's mouth pulled up slightly.  
  
"Alice. Frank. I have heard a great deal about you two." Lord Voldemort's smile grew only marginally. "You perhaps wonder how I arrived here. Your Secret-Keeper, it seems, is a great deal less...durable than you might have hoped." Alice Longbottom gasped, holding her hand up to her mouth. "I had wondered who to kill first, you know. And I decided that business must come before pleasure."  
  
"You'll not leave here alive," Alice snapped, bringing her wand about with a soft whipping sound. Voldemort chuckled, and lazily, almost negligently, flipped his wand toward her.  
  
"Avada Kedavra," he said. The green flash of light did not hit Alice, however, as the man beside her threw himself between them, screaming in rage. In a moment, he was dead. Voldemort stepped forward. When his high voice spoke again, it was lightly amused. "The Order will not save you now, Alice. And now your husband, too, is powerless. Stand aside, and let me kill your son."  
  
"Neville? You'll only get to him through my dead body!"  
  
"Which, of course, is easily arranged," Voldemort said, chuckling. "Avada Kedavra!"  
  
*  
  
"Sirius Black, if you don't bring my son into the house this instant, I shall make sure that you will never set foot in this household again!" A woman with delicate red hair whirled from the window and stormed to the stove, where a pot of stew was being stirred by a rather scruffy-looking man, who watched her with a bemused expression. "What?" the woman demanded, sounding annoyed.  
  
"Do you really think you could keep Sirius from coming over here? Even if you could manage to deny Harry the undeniable pleasure of having his godfather around, how would you deal with Remus' pleas to take Sirius off his hands so he can think for an hour?"  
  
Lily walked past the man, grinning. As she passed, she slapped the back of his head. "Idiot. I have to do everything I can think of to keep 'Padfoot' in line, and if threatening him with keeping Harry away does the trick, it's fine by me. SIRIUS!" The last sentence was aimed to the back window. Outside, a boy's laughter mingled with Sirius' low voice, and the back door swung open, revealing Sirius Black and his godson, Harry Potter. Harry absently pushed up his round glasses, gave Sirius a bright grin, and then hurried to his father's side.  
  
Harry glanced up at James Potter, a worried look sketched on his small face. "Dad...Mom wouldn't *really* tell Sirius not to come back, would she?"  
  
James glanced down at Harry, taking a moment, as he often did, to marvel at his son. His own flesh and blood...in so many ways a picture of James himself, with his slight frame, pale face, and black hair that despite Lily's ministrations, never managed to sit flat. Whenever he looked at Harry, James was reminded, briefly, of the night they could have lost him.  
  
"Naw; your mother just likes joking with Sirius. She thinks he's a bad influence...almost as much as me, you know." He gave Harry a sappy grin, and leaned close. "She worries about you. Just like I do, because we love you."  
  
"More than Peter?" Harry asked.  
  
"Yes. More than we love Petey."  
  
"More than Uncle Remus?"  
  
"Yes. More than Uncle Remus."  
  
"More than Sirius?"  
  
James glanced at Sirius, and then gave his son a conspiratorial wink. "Sure, but don't tell him, or you'll hurt his feelings."  
  
Harry nodded, very serious. However, the parental scene was shattered when a pure black owl swooped out of the chimney, squawking. The owl fluttered to Harry, landing delicately on his shoulder. It held out one leg and dropped a letter into Harry's outstretched hand. The address read:  
  
Harry Potter  
  
The Kitchen  
  
Godric's Hollow  
  
England  
  
"Oi! Harry, is that what I think it is?" Sirius demanded, hurrying to the eleven-year-old's side. He glanced at the writing, and smiled. "That's McGonagall's handwriting if I've ever seen it. Open it, Harry!" Slowly, as if afraid of what might happen (as he should have been; although he loved his godfather, he had learned early on not to trust the man fully when he was excited), Harry opened the envelope. Sirius crowed and snatched the letter from his small hands. "He's in, James! I knew he would, but here -- McGonnagal's writing, he's in! I gotta tell Moony!" With a sharp crack, Sirius vanished, and Harry's letter drifted to the floor.  
  
Lily Potter gave a light 'tut', and walked to the letter, scooping it into her hand. Harry only watched, his spirit glowing. While he was a bit miffed that Sirius had grabbed the letter, his happiness far outweighed that. Even though he hadn't read the letter, due to his godfather, he had seen one word, that said everything. 'Hogwarts'.  
  
*  
  
Harry Potter stepped into Ollivander's wands, led by his godfather, who had 'selflessly' offered to take his godson to Diagon Alley to shop for his school things while his parents were at work. The boy was wide-eyed, taking in the sights of the shop, the many boxes containing wands...one of which would become his.  
  
A strange, thin, ancient man drifted into the front room, pausing before Sirius Black. He looked the man up and down, and then nodded. "Sirius Black. Fifteen inches. Hazel, with a core of powdered dragon's blood. I always remembered it was an odd combination of defensive and offensive magic. Still holding up?" Sirius nodded, and then Ollivander turned his attention to Harry. "And you. A new child. Hm...Lily and James' boy? It certainly would be the right time...Very well. Come along." Ollivander paused by a single chair, and Harry sat down. "Now, let's see..." Harry started as a tape measure appeared and began to measure the length of his arms, legs, the distance between his eyes, and a hundred different things that made little sense to Harry at the time. Suddenly, the man held up his hand, and the tape stopped moving.  
  
"Such strange measurements, child. I should not think something simple would work for you. Something strong, and full of bravery. Phoenix feathers, perhaps. And..." Ollivander paused. "Oh my. It certainly couldn't be. And yet..." He vanished, and reappeared a moment later, holding a long box. "Holly. Eleven inches, with a single phoenix feather at its core. Yes, perhaps it is something to be said that *you* should have it. Try it, Harry."  
  
With trepidation, Harry opened the box, removing the supple stick of wood. He pulled the wand up, and swung it down. Sparks erupted from the end of the wand, a glittering storm of emerald. Ollivander nodded gravely, and took the wand gently from Harry.  
  
"Yes, indeed. Such grave tidings, to have such a wand. It has great power, useful for protection, and perhaps Transfiguration. But it is what inside that worries me, yes..."  
  
Sirius glared at the old man, and stepped next to Harry, slipping a hand down to grasp the boy's. "Ollivander, you're scaring Harry. If you're going to sit there spouting off nonsense-"  
  
"Oh, I meant no offense, Mr. Black. It is just...this wand has within it a phoenix feather. A feather from a peculiar phoenix -- one which only ever gave two feathers to me. Your wand, Mr. Potter, has a twin that belongs to a very powerful wizard. Yes. Yew, thirteen and one-half inches. Unlike your wand, his wand was useful for destruction, death, and he used it well for that purpose."  
  
"Ollivander..." The wand-seller glanced up, surprised, at Sirius' warning growl, as if he had forgotten Sirius was there.  
  
"I always thought you would grow to do great things, Mr. Potter. Your parentage practically ensured it. But this...well, it confirms my suspicions."  
  
"Just tell us what it is!" Sirius snapped, eyes blazing. Ollivander shook his head, frowning.  
  
"Mr. Potter's wand has a twin...a twin wielded by one of the greatest wizards of our time."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore?" Harry chimed in, his voice quivering a bit with excitement. Ollivander only gave a sad shake of the head.  
  
"Albus Dumbledore? No, certainly not. He is...older than even me, I fear; no, the wand you hold is twin to that of Lord Voldemort."  
  
There was a long, shocked pause, and then Sirius pulled out a number of gold Galleons, tossing them on the counter. "Don't bother with change, Ollivander. We'll be going." Sirius took Harry by the hand. "Don't forget your wand, Harry." Harry glanced up at Sirius, and then shook his head. With a grim glance at Ollivander, Sirius grabbed the box containing the wand and led Harry from the shop. As soon as they were back on the street, Sirius began to swear. Loudly and violently. "Stupid bloody wand-maker, so wrapped up in his books that he forgets-"  
  
Harry, though, was still silent, pondering the words Ollivander had spoken to him. Voldemort! He had heard enough between his parents, and Sirius and Remus, and even, occasionally, Peter, to understand how horrible it was. He glanced at Sirius, who was still raging, and wondered what it all meant. Voldemort was gone -- ten years ago, he'd vanished, struck down by his own Killing Curse at the home of Alice and Frank Longbottom, who had both fallen beneath his wand. And Neville Longbottom - their only son, had survived the attack, the only person ever to live when struck with the curse that had murdered his parents. The very idea of Voldemort, though, still frightened half the wizarding world, and if Harry was honest with himself, it terrified him, too. His wand...  
  
"Harry? Harry, are you all right? God, Lily's never going to forgive me if I've broken you." Harry was startled out his reverie by Sirius' voice, and realized that they were sitting in Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. The Wand was sitting on the table next to Sirius', and Harry shivered a little upon seeing it. "Come on, Harry. You know better than to listen to that old coot," Sirius pleaded.  
  
Harry's gaze rested on his wand, and with a sudden jolt, he saw what Sirius meant. It was a wand. *His* wand, to be exact. And whatever similarities it shared with anyone else's, it belonged to him, Harry Potter. And he was nothing like Voldemort. "I...guess you're right, Sirius," Harry finally admitted. "I'm being silly."  
  
"Next thing you know, you'll be worried about being Sorted into the wrong House," Sirius proclaimed. "Just you remember...no matter what House you're Sorted into, you just act the way you always do, eh? I wouldn't want you deciding to be all brainy just because you were Sorted into Ravenclaw, huh?" Sirius rubbed the top of Harry's head affectionately when the boy laughed in response. Suddenly, he stopped, and Harry glanced up, trying to see what his godfather did. Peter Pettigrew was walking along Diagon Alley, several doors down. Watching Sirius, Harry saw his eyes narrow.  
  
"What is he doing down Knockturn Alley?" Sirius mused, almost too softly to be heard.  
  
"Sirius? What's-"  
  
"Ah, it's nothing," Sirius concluded, shaking his head. "Peter's probably just gotten himself lost again. Come on, let's get moving. I promised Moony we'd meet him at Flourish and Blott's, and you know how us being late gets his tail in a bunch." Harry stood, picking up his wand; as Sirius stood up, though, he bumped into someone. The man shouted, startled, and whirled about. Harry caught the strong scent of garlic before he saw the man's pale, heavily-lined face. A large turban stood above his forehead, wrapped tightly along the back of his face. Harry felt a strange twinge run up his right arm, and he glanced down, startled. He saw nothing, so turned his attention back to the strange man.  
  
"Slatero," Sirius said, surprised. "How are you?" The man paused, and glanced around nervously. Harry wondered if he was afraid of something, or if it was just a nervous tic. It proved to be the latter when Slatero spoke.  
  
"I-I-I'm just p-p-p-p-perfectly fine, Si-Sirius. Quite a p-p-p-pleasure to see you, isn't it?" The man wrung his hands, and glanced about with a quick head shake. "And w-what brings you to D-d-d-d-diagon Alley?"  
  
Sirius clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I'm just helping Harry get his school things. Harry's going to Hogwarts this year. Harry, this is Professor Quirrel, your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Harry resisted the urge to laugh; Professor Quirrel didn't look much like someone able to protect *himself* against the Dark Arts, much less teach others to do so. Nevertheless, he switched his wand to his left hand and held out his right to shake.  
  
"I'm very pleased to meet you, Professor." The man stuck out his hand, but when he touched Harry's, he froze, like a deer in headlights.  
  
"Oh d-d-dear...I hadn't...oh, I-i-i-I must be g-g-going, H-h-h-Harry. Urgent business, you see." He pulled his hand back to himself, clutching it close to his chest, and hurried away. Sirius waited until Quirrel was out of earshot, and then burst into laughter.  
  
"And I thought Slatero was nervous when we were in school together! You'd never imagine he was actually a Slytherin, Harry, the way he cowers about whimpering. I don't know how he got the job as Defense professor, but I wouldn't listen to a word he says in that classroom. Come on, Harry; we're late as it is. And Moony awaits."  
  
*  
  
Remus Lupin was standing just outside the entrance of Flourish and Blott's, tapping his foot impatiently. As was he wont, he was dressed in gray robes, ones which were, as Sirius often said, far too tattered for his taste. When Sirius approached him, a little breathless, Remus growled at him, golden-hazel eyes glittering.  
  
"You're late," he muttered. Sirius gave the other man a cheeky grin that included a sparkle in blue-black eyes.  
  
"Moony, you couldn't possibly be upset that we're only-"  
  
"Five minutes late. Really, Sirius, why can't you ever get anywhere on time? Some days I'm surprised you ever managed to arrive at your birth at the right moment." Sirius only continued smiling, and tossed an arm around Remus' shoulders.  
  
"What matters is that we've arrived, Harry armed with the basic necessity of any trip to Hogwarts, and me having done nothing that will warrant scolding from either of his parents." There was a moment in which Remus tried to look angry, but he eventually broke down, a wry grin appearing on his face.  
  
"As long as you haven't been buying Dungbombs or whatnot, I suppose I can excuse you this time," Remus concluded. "But why *were* you late, anyway?" Sirius paused, giving Harry a long look. Finally, he said,  
  
"We ran into an old friend. You remember Slatero Quirrel? He's teaching Defense at Hogwarts, now. He looks a little more jumpy than I remember him..."  
  
Remus nodded, but gave Sirius a suspicious look, one that easily showed that soon, Remus would know about the wand, and thus, so would his parents. "Very well, then. Sirius, I picked up Harry's books for him." He handed Sirius a stack of textbooks, and then, a little shyly, handed another book to Harry. "And this is...extra, Harry." Harry took the tome, grinning at the nervous man, and then examined it. Remus very rarely gave Harry presents; he never said why, but Harry had long come to understand that Remus felt uncomfortable, like he didn't belong among the happy family. Harry sometimes wondered if it had to do with Remus' illness. While he didn't know the details, it meant that every month, Sirius was away helping Remus deal with it, and sometimes, even his father went away for a few days.  
  
The book was not, as Harry might have expected, something suitably scholarly, as Remus himself read, but rather a thin book with a simply inscribed title: 'The Book of Ages: Advice, Wisdom, and General Knowledge for Wizards of Any Age'.  
  
"Thank you, Remus," Harry said, hoping that his lack of enthusiasm didn't show. Remus, however, gave Sirius a dejected look, and Harry remembered that his efforts never managed to conceal any emotion around Remus. Sirius, though, took charge.  
  
"Moony, only you would expect Harry to know what this is before you gave it to him, and be hurt when he doesn't know how useful it is. *This*, Harry, is one of the most useful books they sell in here. Moony was one of its original authors, actually. Look inside, Harry." Obeying his godfather, Harry flipped open the book. On the first page, there was a short passage written.  
  
"Congratulations, Harry Potter, on acquiring this book! 'The Book of Ages' is a book created especially for you; everything written in here is meant only to help you in your growth and journey through life. Don't look now - in the time you will spend with this book, you will discover new passages, new wisdom, new advice. I don't know what is in this book now; it may contain spells, prophecies, or anything else meant to help you. This book is charmed so that you cannot lose it, nor can it be stolen. Hopefully, this book will be greatly helpful in the future. But be warned: do not allow it to become invaluable, because one of its many purposes is to teach you how to work and live for yourself.  
  
-Remus Lupin, Creator and Editor, First Edition"  
  
Harry glanced up, this time his face reflecting awe. "Thank you, Remus...this is...well, it's amazing. Thank you very much." Sirius wrapped his arm around Remus', grinning.  
  
"You see, Remus? He loves it. *You* just need to stop acting like some puppy afraid of being kicked, right, Harry?" Harry, of course, nodded. Together they left the awning in front of Flourish and Blotts, Sirius taking the lead as they headed towards Eelops Owl Emporium. "Now, Harry, it's time for my birthday present." Harry opened his mouth to protest, that Sirius had *already* given him a present, but something in Sirius' eyes convinced Harry that arguing was out of the question. As a result, when he returned home, it was with a cage carrying a snow-white owl named Hedwig. He remembered his mother mentioning that name a few times - something about a Muggle movie. For some reason, Sirius couldn't keep a straight face when he heard the name. Remus, even, allowed himself a small smile. And so by the time Harry returned home, traumas had faded, and he was in a much better mood.  
  
*  
  
"Harry, I don't care what your father or Sirius says; you are to be nice to everyone!" Lily straightened Harry's jumper, frowning in concentration. Behind Harry, Sirius rolled his eyes. Before he could interject, Lily stood up and stabbed him with her finger. "Sirius Black, I don't care how you feel about a certain *head* of a certain House, because I did not raise my son to be a hooligan."  
  
"I'd be personally offended if Harry didn't learn to give Slytherin hell, Lily," Sirius replied. Harry, still in his parents' living room, stepped away from the growing tension between his mother and godfather.  
  
The redhead approached Sirius, her eyes glinting. "Sirius, I know perfectly well why you spent your entire school career trying to make the Slytherins miserable. I am not going to let your family problems affect Harry's life-"  
  
"The Slytherins are-"  
  
"You were very nearly one, Sirius! James told me a lot more about your school days than you did, and I think there were about three pranks and a rules violation away from Slytherin...putting *aside* the way you treated Severus!"  
  
"Severus was a sniveling bastard who tried to steal-"  
  
The words died away as Remus stepped through the front door, his smile dying away as he heard the latter part of the argument. His face glassy, he turned to Lily.  
  
"The car's ready; James is outside. And I think Sirius and I will stay behind for this. We have...some things to discuss."  
  
Lily nodded, and turned to Harry, nudging him towards Sirius, who embraced his godson in a tight hug.  
  
"Hey, good luck, Harry. Uh...do what your mom says, okay? I don't want trouble."  
  
Harry nodded. Then, letting his mother take his hand, he said goodbye to Remus, and let his mother lead him outside to the car. He did, however, try to figure out what was going on with Sirius; all he caught was an exasperated expression on Remus' face. The next half-hour was boring, as his parents were silent on the way to King's Cross Station. But finally they were there, and ready to pull off the visual trick of keeping Muggles from not seeing anyone falling through the barrier between Platforms 9 and 10. However, Lily paused before they reached the barrier, and pointed, startled, at a group of people with violent red hair.  
  
"Look, Harry. It's the Weasleys. You remember them, don't you?" Harry nodded, uncertain. After all, there were a number of people that his parents knew, half-remembered faces from parties and whatnot. But the Weasleys were more unforgettable than the others; that flaming red hair tended to make an impression. "Molly!" The plump, shortish woman who led the group, turned at Lily's shout in order to wave. By the time the Potters arrived, she was left standing with two children, a boy about Harry's age, and a girl who looked a bit younger.  
  
"Ah, hello, Lily," Molly said, absently. "I'm seeing the lot off again. And this must be Harry's first year, eh? Ron's going for his first, too." She patted the boy's head; he tried to duck away, but failed in the face of the unerring instincts of a mother embarrassing her children. Harry tried to only nod amicably. However, his mother's elbow in his ribs forced him to acknowledge Ron's presence by offering his hand.  
  
"Hey. I'm Harry."  
  
"Ron," Ron responded, glancing away from Harry a little. "You don't remember me much, do you? The quiet kid who tried to avoid Fred and-"  
  
"No, I remember you, Ron," Harry responded. "Do you want to sit in the same car as me? I want to know someone on the train." Given Ron's look of, well, awe, Harry decided the suggestion was a good one. Then Mrs. Weasley's voice broke into the conversation.  
  
"Harry, Ron, why don't you go through? Here's your stuff...there you go." With that, Harry and Ron, both at a run, to take away nerves, passed through the barrier to Platform 9 and Three-Quarters, the platform that held the Hogwarts Express.  
  
"Wow...that's bloody awesome," Ron muttered. Harry had to admit that the scarlet train was an impressive sight, even with the crowds around it dealing with everything from packages and long goodbyes to crates containing very suspicious animals. Harry decided to take the lead, heading towards the rear of the train, carrying his trunks and owl. When they reached the last car, they slipped in and found an empty compartment. Ron immediately slumped into a seat, while Harry spent a moment trying to find a way to stow his trunks and Hedwig. When Harry sat down, he was surprised to see Ron watching him. Upon meeting Harry's eyes, Ron turned away, his face flushing almost as darkly as his hair.  
  
"Ron, are you all right?" Ron, who had suddenly found his trunk very interesting, nodded wordlessly. "Okay." Harry shook his head, wondering what Ron was thinking; his thought, process, however, was interrupted by the door to the compartment opening. A blond, round-faced boy slipped into the area, lugging a large trunk and trying to keep his grip on a small potted plant. He didn't seem aware of the two other boys until he had closed the door. In response, he screamed and dropped the trunk. He kept a tight hold on the plant.  
  
"I'm sorry; I didn't see you two here," he said softly. "I'll just be going-"  
  
"No, wait," Harry said, holding out a hand. "We don't mind. Come on, sit down. I'm Harry Potter. This is Ron Weasley. And you are...?"  
  
The first response was too quiet to be heard, so Ron spoke up. "I didn't hear that."  
  
"Neville Longbottom," the boy said again. Ron gasped, his eyes flying up his forehead. Harry glanced between the two of them, only slightly less startled.  
  
"Neville...?" The boy nodded, miserably. Harry looked closer, and saw a faint scar on Neville's forehead, a jagged line that looked very much like a lightning bolt. Like most wizards across the world, he'd heard the story of how Voldemort had come to the Longbottom house, after having tortured the Secret Keeper that would have kept them safe. How he had murdered Alice and Frank Longbottom, only to turn his wand on a one-year-old boy. And how the spell had turned back on its caster, rebounding and leaving Neville to live with his grandmother, and with a scar upon his face. With a sudden realization, Harry nudged Ron, sharply. "Don't stare!" he hissed. Wiping away the instinctive awe from his face, Harry stood up and help Neville get his trunk up above. "Welcome, Neville. This your first year? Ron and I are..." Harry trailed off. Something was grabbing onto his leg, and he had a horrible suspicion. He glanced down and saw Neville's plant, a mass of thorned tentacles, wrapping around his ankle. "Neville?"  
  
Neville very nearly swore, and grabbed the pot from the floor. He tapped the side of the pot with a thick, oak wand, muttering something. The plant let go of Harry's leg and retreated to its pot. "S-sorry, Harry. It's Devil's Snare; harmless, really. I...it's useful in making paralyzing potions. Gran likes me tending to plants. She says it helps me be responsible."  
  
"Your Gran lets you grow magic plants?" Ron asked. "My mum won't let me get near the potion supplies, much less weed the garden. Not after the twins nearly poisoned themselves." Ron sounded a little bitter, his voice protesting the treatment his parents gave him.  
  
"Well...even though, you know, my family thought I might be a Squib," Neville responded. "I...Gran was so excited when she realized I had a green thumb, she decided to encourage it."  
  
"That's amazing," Ron concluded. "I don't know *anything* about that stuff. Could you tell us about it? Like what's this stuff?"  
  
Neville, at first cautious and timid, began responding enthusiastically as he realized that the two boys were interested in what he had to say. So for a few moments, perhaps a minute or two, they were happy sitting together listening to Neville talk about his plants. But the room fell into silence when a thin blond boy dressed in his school robes. He was fingering a sleek, almost black wand. Ron almost immediately leapt to his feet, his own wand, a tattered stick, out and ready for a fight.  
  
"Get out of here, Malfoy!" The blond boy drifted past Ron, ignoring him.  
  
"I'd heard that Neville Longbottom was back here, and it looks like the rumors were right. Of course, he's already got a fan club. A Weasley and...is this Harry Potter? Really, Potter, you should choose a better group of friends. I mean, with the right guidance, you'd know all the right people to go with. What do you say?"  
  
"I don't even know your name," Harry responded.  
  
"Oh, do forgive me. My name is Malfoy. Draco Malfoy." Draco gave Harry a thinly-disguised sneer. "And I would advise that you not make me your enemy." Harry glanced at Ron, who was looking just moments away from a breakdown, and Neville, who was near tears. Finally,  
  
"Look, Malfoy, I don't think I need friends who treat people like that. I...it was a pleasure to meet you. Good bye."  
  
Draco stood in the doorway for a moment, almost shocked.  
  
"Fine! If you want to play that way, Potter, just remember that you've made a terrible mistake scorning me. Good BYE!" The blond boy stalked from the compartment, slamming the door behind him. Ron sighed in relief.  
  
"Thank Merlin he's gone. The Malfoys are bad news, Harry. Back when...You-Know-Who died, Mr. Malfoy was tried as one of his supporters. His mum got out of any conviction, but his dad's still in Azkaban. Nasty lot, the whole of them." Harry was about to respond, but then he noticed Neville was shaking.  
  
"Neville? What's wrong?"  
  
The boy didn't respond, allowing Harry to notice the tears running down his face.  
  
"Neville?"  
  
"I...Malfoy..." Neville shook his head, suddenly sobbing. "His dad..." The connection hit Harry like a heavy weight in his stomach. Mr. Malfoy had been part of the group that had attacked his parents. And here the boy was reminded of that horrible incident; Harry tried to use glances to get advice from Ron, but the redhead looked just as helpless. In a flash of realization, Harry grabbed the book Remus had given him and flipped it open. The first page had changed; now, there were two phrases written on it.  
  
"Sometimes the greatest gifts are those wrapped in the most base of wrappings."  
  
"The joy of new friendship can drive away the tears of the ancient past."  
  
Well, that was unhelpful. The door to the compartment swung open again, this time revealing a slender brunette with bushy hair, dressed in school robes, and sporting a rather severe frown.  
  
"Hello; one of the prefects asked me to go along the train and tell students to start getting dressed. We're almost to the school, you know. Oh, are you homesick? Well, don't worry. We're going to be learning lots of things at Hogwarts. You'd be amazed at some of the classes we're going to have. I'm Muggle-born, you know, name's Hermione Granger, and I'm so looking forward to our classes, especially Transfiguration, although Charms sounds like it will be exciting as well. I'm not certain about Herbology, though, I've never been good with biology, and memorizing all of those plants and their uses - oh, is that Devil's Snare? Isn't it a dangerous vine? How can you have it in here?"  
  
Harry had almost given up hope of the girl, Hermione, shutting up, but now she was watching Neville, waiting for an answer.  
  
And, miraculously, Neville was recovering. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, and, sniffling, picked up the Devil's Snare. "Oh, it's not dangerous; all you need is a little light or heat and it'll back right off. My Gran's got a whole patch of this stuff. I could have taken the wolfsbane, if I'd wanted, but this reminded me of home..." And they did manage to spend the rest of the journey talking, drifting from their original topic onto the topics of home lives, Muggles, wizards, Hogwarts (about which Hermione turned out to be a remarkable source of information), and myriad other topics. And so they had to scramble for their robes when the train finally rolled to a halt. But it was all right.  
  
*  
  
Harry was still wondering about the advantages of being taken to the castle by rickety boat in the middle of the night; Neville had almost fallen in twice, and so Harry was already taking him out of the running for House Quidditch team. And now a tight-lipped teacher dressed in emerald robes had led them to a large hallway and told them to wait. And even though he knew what was going to happen next - the Sorting - he was still nervous. Hermione was talking faster than she had been on the train, probably indicating her own nervousness. Harry was trying to ignore her musings about the future and Ron's panic when he caught sight of Draco's head.  
  
Harry suddenly remembered the passages in Remus' book, and a moment passed when Harry felt a touch of sympathy for the boy. With that moment, he decided something. Harry tapped Draco on the shoulder, and the blond boy turned around. The sneer appeared on his face before Harry started talking, but Harry jumped into conversation.  
  
"Look, Draco. I realize we didn't get off to a good start. But you were being really mean to my friends, and Draco-my mum told me to be nice to everyone, and, well, if you want to be friends, I'd be happy to, but not if you're a prat like you were before. I...well, that's all I've got to say." Harry turned around to join his new friends, so didn't see the shocked look on Draco's face. And the boy didn't have time to respond to Harry, as the severe-looking witch appeared again, holding a small clipboard.  
  
"Come along, children. We are going into the Great Hall where you will be Sorted. When I call your name, come forward and do as I tell you."  
  
The first-year students filed into the Hall after the woman, who picked up a small stool covered in ratty felt on her way in. It was only when she walked past the high table to place it in the middle of the hall, in front of all of the other gathered students, that Harry realized the felt was in fact a very old hat. And then he actually realized what was in the rest of the hall, and froze. Hundreds of students were seated at four long tables, watching the front of the room intently. On the other side, at the high table, sat a number of witches and wizards. Among the others, at the center, sat a venerable gray-bearded wizard dressed in dark purple robes. He smiled at Harry and gave a little wave. Harry's gaze then slid up to the ceiling; he nearly fell over when he saw the glittering stars there.  
  
"This is amazing! I'd read that the ceiling in here is enchanted to reflect the sky outside but I hadn't realized it would look so real! I wonder if we're going to learn anything about how to-"  
  
"Hermione, shut up," Ron said amiably. "We're about to start."  
  
Harry barely heard the Sorting Hat as it burst into song, going on about what each House meant, and then only just managed to hear Hermione and Neville Sorted into Gryffindor, and Draco Malfoy into Slytherin. And then, too soon, the stern witch called out, "Potter, Harry!"  
  
Harry approached the hat nervously, and, as each student before him had, sat on the stool and slipped the hat over his head. The next thing he heard was a quiet voice that may very well have been in his head. "Hmm...quite difficult here. Certainly a lot of bravery. Talent, too. I see a bit of Lily here. Of course, you're like your father, too. A disregard for the rules, a definite streak of loyalty...well, where would you like to go?" The question caught Harry by surprise. The hat was supposed to choose where Harry went; he wasn't supposed to give it advice!  
  
'I don't know! That was your job, right?'  
  
"Well, normally. But you're much too difficult to decide on. You could do well in any house. Although...Slytherin could be a better fit." Harry felt a wave of disappointment hit him. He'd been hoping that he'd get Sorted into Gryffindor, like his father and Remus and Sirius. But the hat was telling him-  
  
"Well, what will it be? I haven't got all day."  
  
Harry decided to explain himself. 'I wanted to get into Gryffindor; my dad would be really proud of me.'  
  
"Well, if you're sure...I'll put you in GRYFFINDOR!"  
  
The hat was pulled from Harry's head, and he stumbled towards the Gryffindor table, managing to find a seat beside Hermione. Some older children had evidently caught a hold of Neville and were busy interviewing their new celebrity. She gave Harry a half-hug, smiling brightly.  
  
"I'm so glad we're in the same House, Harry. I was worried I'd end up somewhere that I didn't know anyone at all, and I'd be horribly lost, but I suppose getting to know new people is part of what going to school is about, but it just feels different, because I feel so ignorant, even though I've been reading all of our textbooks over the summer-did you know that our History of Magic course only covers the history of European witches and wizards? I should talk to the professor about that because it seems awfully ethnocentric to only discuss Europe, especially because a lot of advances in magic have come from other countries-"  
  
"Breathe, Hermione," Ron said as he approached the table. Harry reached an arm back and grabbed Ron's hand.  
  
"Congratulations on making Gryffindor!" Harry said. "Sit down, don't mind Hermione. I think she's overloaded." The last student was Sorted, and then the old wizard at the center of the high table banged for attention.  
  
"Ooh! Headmaster Dumbledore's about to speak," Hermione exclaimed, shushing the two boys next to her. Indeed, Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat and gazed out among the gathered students. Beside him was seated a dark-haired, rodentlike man. He suddenly turned to the Gryffindor table, meeting Harry's eyes; suddenly, Harry was aware the teacher was glaring at him.  
  
"Wha-?"  
  
"Good evening, and welcome to another year at Hogwarts. Although to some of you, it is a first year. Now, there are a few things I must mention to you. First, I must ask you all to remain out of the Forbidden Forest. There are a number of unpleasant creatures out there, and I do not wish to be responsible for retrieving you from the forest in pieces. Secondly, we are pleased to be welcoming Professor Quirrel back from Albania, where he was studying vampires." Professor Quirrel, looking paler than he had at Diagon Alley, waved nervously from his seat. Dumbledore smiled and then turned to his right. "And it seems that Professor Binns has decided that perhaps retirement is in order." There was a pause as the Great Gall erupted in spontaneous applause. Dumbledore attempted to look as if he hadn't heard, and continued, plowing forward. "So, I would like to introduce you to your new History of Magic Professor [A/N: Come on; you know what's coming], Professor Lupin."  
  
Harry's head shot up. 'Remus?' Indeed, the familiar head of honey-colored hair was sitting a few seats to Dumbledore's right. Once again, Harry found his gaze drawn to the black-haired teacher seated to Dumbledore's left. The man was watching Remus with a very odd look on his face. Harry couldn't think of any way to describe it except as being similar to a very hungry man seeing a steak for the first time in a month.  
  
"Harry, what's up?" Ron asked, leaning close.  
  
"That's my 'uncle' Remus; you must have seen him once or twice," Harry responded. "I didn't know he was working here."  
  
"Well, it could have been very sudden; maybe he didn't know until recently."  
  
"-horrible death. Now, let's eat." Harry's mind froze. He had the feeling he'd just missed something very important. However, everyone else was digging in to the food that had suddenly appeared on the tables, so Harry joined in. He could ask someone later.  
  
*  
  
Hours later, Harry sat in a four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't asleep yet, and from the sound of things, Ron wasn't either.  
  
"You okay, Ron?" He heard the other boy shift in his own bed, and then an answer.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine, Harry. Just thinking. I'm just a little worried. I mean, what if I don't know anything? What if I don't make friends? What if I lose Gryffindor a thousand points?"  
  
"Don't worry," Harry responded. "Look, if there was anything to worry about, you'd already know. I mean, this is just a school. Sure it's a wizarding school, but...really, as long as we follow the rules, the worst that can happen is fail Potions. We'll be fine...after all, what really is the worst that can happen?"  
  
There was more shifting, and then a long sigh. "Thanks, Harry. I think that helps. 'Night."  
  
"G'night, Ron." Soon enough, Ron was asleep, and Harry was well on the way. And for most of the night, 'The Book of Ages' held a small message on the first page that Harry might have been interested in.  
  
"Danger comes from an unexpected source, but so does aid, so it all works out, really." 


	2. New Classes and Quidditch

2/?  
  
Harry woke up early; it was barely light out when he stretched and rolled out of his bed. He had to kick his sheets away, as he wasn't used to so many. He climbed down the spiral stairs from his dormitory to the large common room and sat down in one of the overstuffed maroon chairs. Just as Harry was getting comfortable, he realized he wasn't alone. Neville was sitting in another one of the chairs, watching the fireplace.  
  
"Neville?"  
  
"Hullo, Harry." Neville was holding his potter Devil's Snare much as one might hold a teddy bear. "Couldn't sleep?"  
  
"It's seven in the morning, Neville. I just got up. Couldn't you sleep?"  
  
"No." The round boy tightened his grip on the pot. "I'm worried. I know that I'm not good at much of anything. What if they decide I'm not good enough to stay here? My Gran would be really mad, and...well, I've been looking forward-"  
  
"Don't worry," Harry said. "None of us know this stuff yet. You might surprise us. After all, if you're so good at knowing plants and stuff, you might be good at other stuff. And besides, you met Hermione. I bet she's got extra brains lying around she could loan you if you're having trouble." He glanced at his watch, and then back up at the other boy. "Come on, how about breakfast? I don't relish fighting with anyone for food this early." Neville assented, and the two new Gryffindors headed down to the Great Hall. Once there, Harry was not surprised to see it mostly empty. There were a few students at each table, and one or two teachers. Harry recognized the woman briefly introduced as their Herbology teacher, a plump woman named Professor Sprout (the coincidence had indeed struck him regarding this). And sitting near her were two more teachers; Professor McGonagall, the woman who had first met them in the front of the castle, and Remus, who, for some inexplicable reason, was wearing something remotely fashionable: very dark red robes that appeared to be silk. Harry had to double-check to decide whether he was actually looking at *Remus*, Remus, who never bought something in fashion if he could find 'perfectly serviceable robes' at a lower cost.  
  
He supposed he must have looked odd, staring at one of their professors for such a long time, but Harry had to say it was an immense shock. It was Neville who broke the moment, however, when he spoke.  
  
"Harry?" Harry turned, surprised, to meet Neville's eyes. "Is something the matter?" Although Neville seemed serious enough, there was an odd, amused glint in his eyes.  
  
"No; I just thought that Rem-Professor Lupin, looks different now that he's a teacher. He's one of my dad's friends, and he never wears robes that nice." Neville nodded at Harry's response, but gave him a rather thoughtful look before he sat down and grabbed a plate of eggs and toast. Harry joined him at the table, filling his own plate.  
  
"I guess you're not worried, are you, Harry? I mean, everyone knows your mum was brilliant here, and your dad tried his best to make up new magic to get back at Slytherins. Some of that talent must have rubbed off?"  
  
"And what about you?" Harry demanded. "Neville, we've both got the same thing going for us, parent-wise. Except your dad got in less trouble than mine."  
  
Neville shrugged in response. He then leaned closer over his plate to eat, and it took Harry a few moments to realize that Neville was trying to hide his forehead. It was at that point that Harry heard the few students in the Great Hall whispering in small groups, and he supposed Neville had at least one suspicion on the topic of conversation.  
  
"We'll both do fine, Neville. After all, how hard could it be?"  
  
*  
  
"My god, are they all insane?" Ron demanded, throwing himself onto the bench at the Gryffindor table at lunch. "We've had two classes, and we already have to write an essay on the theory of Transfiguration and research levitation charms. Well, at least Potions and History of Magic can't be that bad, right?" He gave Harry a pleading look, only to replace it with a pained one. Harry turned to see Professor Snape, the Potions teacher and head of Slytherin house. Snape was smiling very malevolently, pleased with...something.  
  
"I'm afraid, Mr. Weasley, that you will find Potions one of the most subtle and difficult of the magical arts. In fact, I will be very surprised if more than half of you even pass this year."  
  
Turning, Professor Snape stalked up to the staff table. When he got to the steps, he paused and *glared* at Harry. When Harry turned to Ron and Neville to ask if they'd seen the look, they had already sat down and begun to eat. Harry, shivering, sat down next to Ron, who gave him a brief nod. That was weird. He'd heard his dad talk about Professor Snape, usually about his days in school; he had no reason why the teacher would be giving him a death glare.  
  
"You going to eat that?" Ron asked, pointing to a heap of potatoes on Harry's plate. Harry shook his head, mute. Hermione Granger appeared across the table, chatting with a tall fourth-year student. Harry started when he saw the boy's red hair; when he noticed the other similarities between the older boy and Ron, he remembered the boy's face from the train station.  
  
"Hey, is that your brother?" Ron snorted, rolling his eyes.  
  
"Yes. Prefect Percy. He's just a long line of perfect Weasleys, you know. Even Fred and George-the twins, you know, have their humor going for them." Ron sighed. "I don't think I can possibly live up to my brothers...Bill and Charlie were Head Boys, Percy's a prefect, Fred and George are really popular..."  
  
"So? What if you're good at Potions or something?" Harry stabbed his fork down on his plate, startled when there were no potatoes there. "What happened-?" He froze. Ron glanced up as well.  
  
A transparent man had just drifted up through the table, a young, bearded man dressed in Gryffindor red. He glanced at Harry, and his expression brightened. "Ah, hello! My name's Sir Nicholas de Mimsy Porpington. It's a pleasure to meet you both. Wait a minute, let me guess. Red hair...freckles, you're a Weasley! Ran?"  
  
"Ron," Ron replied. Sir Nicholas nodded, and turned to Harry.  
  
"And let's see...oh, if I'm right, you're the spitting image of your father! Except for the eyes...you're Potter's boy, right? I do hope you've learned some manners from your mother. I'm afraid your father could be a bit of a prat at times..."  
  
Ron, who had been sitting quietly with a look of concentration on his face, finally concluded, "That's what it was! You're Nearly-Headless Nick!"  
  
The ghost glared a bit at Ron, but Hermione had heard the statement and decided that she needed to be involved. "Nearly Headless? How is that possible? I mean, you're either completely headless, or not. It's a logical impossibility."  
  
"Is that what you think?" the ghost demanded. "Then look at this!" Gripping his ear [A/N: Anyone know which one?], Sir Nicholas pulled, nearly yanking his head from his neck. "One half of one inch of skin holds my head to my body. Forty-five strokes of an axe, and you'd think they could pull off a proper beheading. But that is too much to ask, isn't it?" With a loud huff, Sir Nicholas vanished, leaving the immediate area around the table. Percy leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at Ron behind his spectacles.  
  
"Ronald, I warned you about disrespecting the ghosts. They're the most respected members of each House's community. If I could take away points from you, Ron, I would. Now, if you keep making trouble, Mom's going to hear about your behavior."  
  
"You see?" Ron hissed as Percy wandered away, "If I even try to get away from them, Percy shows up to remind me how I'm supposed to be acting! It's a nightmare."  
  
"Yeah, it must be nice to have siblings," Harry responded.  
  
"Or people looking out for you at school," Neville added from the other side of Ron. Ron glanced between the two of them, and then got up, shaking his head.  
  
"You're nutters, the both of you! Honestly, wishing you had *Percy* around! Who in their right mind would actually *want* to have Percy around pestering them?" [A/N: I'm not telling!] Ron fled the Great Hall, still muttering about older siblings, when Harry and Neville decided to join him, so they wouldn't be late for History of Magic. Harry, especially, was looking forward to it. When he wasn't too busy playing with his dad or Sirius, Remus would often try to tell him about the world, and he had long ago decided his parents' friend would have made a great teacher. However, Remus was essentially a shy person. Being in crowds made him tend to lose his concentration. So if anything else, it would be an interesting class.  
  
*  
  
"Good afternoon, class. I hope you are enjoying your first day at Hogwarts." Remus Lupin stood in front of the dusty classroom, clutching a very reedy wand in his hands. Despite his calm exterior, Harry could see Remus was nervous. Not nervous, he realized. Remus was shaken by something. "I had hoped that today we could begin talking about the goals and overview of wizarding history in Europe. However...I just don't feel well today. I...please consider this as a study hall, and we'll begin class as normal tomorrow." Remus crossed behind his desk and collapsed into his chair. The class immediately broke into conversation; Harry, however, got up from his seat and approached Remus carefully. Neville trailed nervously after him; Ron was engaged in conversation with other boys from their year.  
  
"Re-Professor Lupin? Is everything all right?"  
  
"I'm just tired, Harry. I've got this horrible headache-"  
  
"Oh, I've got something for that," Neville announced, rummaging through his pockets. "My Gran taught me how to make it; it's a simple headache remedy. Just some feverfew, peppermint, winter aconite, and milk thistle." Remus, who had been about to take the small packet Neville finally produced from his pockets, recoiled, his eyes wide. "Professor?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Remus whispered, "Terrible allergy to thistle." Neville glanced from his hand to Remus', frowning. He gave Harry a speculative look, and then slipped the packet back into his robes.  
  
"Professor Lupin, do you need anything?" Harry asked. He knew he'd get at least three yeallings-at if his family heard Remus was sick and he'd ignored it. "Because you're part of my family, you know, and..." Remus brought his head up from its slumped position, a pleased, sort of shocked smile on his face.  
  
"I...thanks, Harry. It's really nothing. I just feel like it's been a very long day. Why don't you sit down and talk with your friends?" Harry nodded, leading Neville back to their seats. Hermione was just getting into a medium-volume argument with Ron as Harry sat down, so he had to almost immediately change gears, focus on something new, namely, how to convince Hermione Granger not to kill Ron Weasley over a spilt bottle of ink, even though the ink did destroy half a day's worth of notes and three pages from her copy of 'Hogwarts, a History'.  
  
When that crisis, was over, though, Neville took a chance to say something. "You know, I don't think Professor Lupin's being honest with us."  
  
"He shouldn't have to," Hermione said crisply. "He's a teacher, and we don't have a right to be worrying about his personal life. Look, Neville, I know you want to help, but Professor Lupin has his own problems, which he will deal with on his own." Neville nodded in response; he did, though, still appear doubtful.  
  
"Well, I have no desire to meddle in a professor's personal life," Ron announced. "The last time I worried about what was going on around me, I ended up with a faceful of spider." At the questioning looks, he blushed, glancing away. "I don't want to talk about it."  
  
"Very well. Ron's unpleasant childhood aside," Hermione interrupted, "I want to know if anyone's given any thoughts to their homework for tonight. I wanted to check out the library to see if there's any useful resources, but also to figure out where everything is. I mean, I'm sure that wizards don't use the Dewey Decimal system, so it'll be very helpful to figure out how the books are organized. Anyone want to join me during our break before Potions?" There was a distinct lack of positive response. Hermione glared at the gathered boys. "Now come on; how do you expect to do well if you won't even go into the library? Neville, how about you come with me?"  
  
Neville gave Harry a panicked look, but Ron, next to him, shrugged. 'Human sacrifice,' Ron mouthed, and nudged Harry.  
  
"Ron, honestly," Harry snapped. "Don't force Neville to go if you're afraid to. We'd be happy to go with you, Hermione." The girl grinned at him, but Ron folded his arms, obviously pouting.  
  
"Traitor."  
  
*  
  
"Okay, I understand organizing alphabetically by primary topic," Hermione said, peering at the shelves of books in the library. "But I can't figure these things out. What's TF stand for? And what about CM? And DN?"  
  
"Transfiguration, Charms, and Divination," Neville responded. "PD is periodicals. HB is Herbology...I'll be over there if you want me." He vanished off towards a set of bookcases decorated in wooden vines. Ron slunk away, heading for the stacks labeled 'QD'. And Hermione dragged Harry towards the hopeless maze of the Hogwarts library.  
  
"Well, as odd as this is, Harry, you have to admit it's amazing, all these books here in one place. I suppose they have books on every topic, if you know where to look. Hmm...you wait here, Harry. I'm going to get a few books for light reading." Something about that phrase struck Harry as fundamentally wrong, but by the time he realized that Hermione was not the type of person one usually associated with the phrase 'light reading', she had entered the stacks. Now alone in the library, Harry sat down at one of the tables.  
  
There was a brief burst of chatter as some students entered the library from the halls; Harry didn't look in that direction, and was thus startled when one of the new arrivals sat next to him.  
  
"Harry Potter...funny finding you here." Draco Malfoy's soft drawl drifted from Harry's left, bringing him to full attention. The boy gave Harry a smug grin, leaning back on his chair. "I wouldn't expect you to be in the library this early in the school year. Or are you hiding to avoid going to Potions? You've got it with Slytherin, you know."  
  
"Why would I try to get out of Potions?" Harry asked. Malfoy jerked backward in surprise, letting out a muffled scream as his chair thudded into the carpet of the library.  
  
From his vantage point on the floor, the Slytherin boy grinned knowingly at Harry. "No reason. It only makes me wish I had a Penseive, so I could record the memory of your first day in Potions and watch it whenever I want. Because, Harry, there's going to be...fireworks. So long; I'll see you in a few minutes! Dead man walking...hee hee hee..." Harry watched the blond boy rise (with the greatest dignity he could manage after falling to the ground backwards from a chair) and glide from the library, still chuckling. He must have spent at least five minutes like that, watching the entrance to the library, because Hermione returned with a stack of at least fifteen books, only one shorter than 500 pages (although it made up for it by being twice the size as the others).  
  
"Harry? Are you-?"  
  
"That had to be the most frightening thing I've ever seen," Harry muttered. "Well, except for the time Sirius almost choked to death."  
  
"What? What are you talking about?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.  
  
"One day Re-Professor Lupin and Sirius, my godfather, were taking care of me. And Sirius choked on a pretzel; I came in when Remus was giving him mouth-to-mouth." He suddenly glanced at Hermione's stack of books, doing a double-take. "What do you call 'heavy reading'?"  
  
Hermione gave Harry a quiet 'hmph', and hurried over to Madam Pince, the librarian, to check out her books.  
  
In a few minutes, Ron drifted back, followed soon by Neville (who was carrying a thick book entitled 'The Properties of Poisonous Herbs and Plants'. As they all gathered to head for Potions, held in one of the dungeon-like rooms near the bottom of the castle, Ron asked a question.  
  
"What was Malfoy doing in here, Harry? He didn't give you any trouble, did he? I could tell my brothers to give him a little 'surprise-"  
  
"It's all right Ron," Harry responded. "He was just talking. He seemed to think that Professor Snape doesn't like me, or something." An image of Snape, fixating a hateful glare directly at him, took that inopportune moment to re-enter Harry's mind, and his cheerful demeanor slipped. "But that's ridiculous, right?"  
  
"Of course. Why would Professor Snape hate you? He barely knows you," Hermione answered.  
  
As they left the library, heading down a pair of steps that-hopefully-led to the dungeons, Harry's mind picked up on something. How long had Ron been watching him, and for what purpose? Hadn't he been in the stacks?  
  
*  
  
"Today, we begin our study of one of the most revered arts in the wizarding world: the art of potion-making. Since time immemorial, the skill of creating magic through the careful mixture of...apparently, mundane ingredients, has been one of the greatest skills available to our world. But in here, you will learn that not everyone has the skills to work as a potions-master, that it is not only the mixing of the ingredients, but an intangible skill that regulates how well...or badly...you will do in my class. Let us see, though, whether you know anything of use before I attempt to teach you. Malfoy! What would you add to a draught to help a man suffering from the bite of the basilisk?"  
  
"I don't know, sir." Professor Severus Snape's lips curled in a smile.  
  
"Of course you wouldn't; there is no cure for the poison found in a basilisk's fangs. Longbottom! What three herbs are combined to make the most effective potion to guard against nightmares?"  
  
"Valerian root, chamomile, and goatweed," Neville snapped out, as if this response was wired into his brain. Professor Snape nodded tightly.  
  
"Very good. Although most people call goatweed 'St. John's Wory'." He paused, glancing around the classroom, and his gaze fell on Harry. "Ah! Mr. Potter. Your father fancied himself a fair hand at Potions. Let's see if you measure up." Professor Snape picked up a textbook from his cluttered desk, and flipped through, finally pausing at a page near the back. "What one common plant is one of the key ingredients in a liquidation potion?"  
  
The class fell silent. Harry, his eyes on notes he had been taking, turned his gaze to the teacher. No one spoke as Snape watched him, eyes glittering. "Don't know the answer, do you, Potter? Perhaps you should take Mr. Longbottom as an example. He obviously has spent time studying *before* he came to my class. It seems that fame has not been wasted on him; he knows very well what is expected of him. *You*, Mr. Potter, would be an embarrassment to all who knew you if you were in Mr. Longbottom's position, I am sure. Five points from Gryffindor for your abysmal demonstration of your knowledge in Potions, keeping in mind, of course, my temporary allowance of a very liberal bending of the definition of 'knowledge'. Now QUILLS OUT! Today we will be discussing the theory of Potions, so that when I actually ask you to actually attempt to create potions, you might have something resembling a chance of actually succeeding."  
  
It was the longest hour of Harry's life.  
  
When Snape finally released them, Harry was miserable; his attitude was reflected by Ron, who had spent the entire class drawing pictures of Professor Snape being strangled by Neville's Devil's Snare, and Hermione, who was indignant at both Snape's treatment of Harry and the fact that he hadn't asked her the question.  
  
"I mean, he could obviously tell that Harry hadn't even *opened* a book all summer, but if he'd asked me, I could have not only told him about dandelion, I could have informed him of the other twenty-four acceptable uses of it in potions, including the fact that it can help fight internal bleeding, and-"  
  
"Just shut up for a minute, will you, Hermione?" Ron snapped. "That guy really annoys me, and I don't want to hear another word about him. And besides, aren't you tired carrying around all those books?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Well, let's head to the Great Hall for dinner. I'm starved!"  
  
"Ron, you ate three hours ago!"  
  
"So? My family's got fast metabolisms."  
  
"You don't even know what that means..."  
  
"Are you insinuating that I'm ignorant? Just because my family didn't grow up in some Muggle suburb-"  
  
It also turned out to be one of the longest nights of Harry's life.  
  
*  
  
The next few weeks passed quickly. Harry found, that with the brief exception of Potions, he enjoyed most of his classes. Learning was, in many respects, fun (although he forced Neville and Ron to promise never to tell Hermione; he tried to keep up an act of indifference so she could feel superior to the group of them). One of the perks was History of Magic; Remus ran the course in the style of a seminar, with readings every night. Their readings came from many different books. The textbooks, apparently, were listed before Remus got the job. Anyway, it was an exciting focus. While the first years learned about the history of the Ministry of Magic's rapid expansion and control over all aspects of magic in the UK area, rumors were that sixth and seventh-year students were debating current events, with at least one class ending in a duel that sent a Hufflepuff boy to the Infirmary with an extra arm growing out of his head.  
  
And beginning the second week of classes, they had flying lessons once a week. Harry was disappointed not to be able to take his broom to school, but being able to fly once a week almost made up for it.  
  
But something changed after three lessons. A notice had been posted in the Gryffindor common room about tryouts for a Quidditch Seeker, and Harry was planning on trying.  
  
"Really, Harry, it's not like you've got much of a chance," Ron muttered over breakfast. "First-years almost *never* get on the house teams. There's never been one on the Gryffindor team in almost a century."  
  
"Hey, stop undermining his confidence," Neville said, jabbing his fork towards Ron. "If he wants to try out, let him go for it."  
  
"Yes, he needs to learn about disappointment first-hand," Hermione added from across the table. She suddenly glanced to her left. "Prefect coming." The conversation abruptly died as Percy Weasley walked past; when he had safely seated himself across from Oliver Wood, the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Hermione nodded. "Of course, you could try getting Percy to put in a good word for you."  
  
"You've got to be kidding, 'Mione," Ron said, chuckling. "I can just imagine his response. 'I am not going to take advantage of my friendship with Oliver to give your little friend a slightly better opportunity at making the Quidditch team. If he can't get in on his own talent, I don't see why he should even be on it.'" Hermione looked like she was going to scold Ron; the arrival of the morning owls, however, interrupted her. As usual, a flock of owls of many different colors swarmed in through the windows to the Great Hall, holding everything from letters to five owls who were struggling under the weight of a large square package. Harry examined the cloud of owls, hopeful for a sight of Hedwig; however, there was no sign of her. A black owl swooped over Neville, though, releasing a thick envelope.  
  
Neville snatched the package from his plate, and reverently peeled it open. He dumped out a letter and a small, paper-wrapped sphere. "Yes! It's here!"  
  
"What is that?" Hermione asked, leaning to get a closer look.  
  
"It's a bulb of Shadow-Weed," Neville responded. "It's wrapped in paper because it can only grow in absolute darkness. It's, well...shadow-weed is known to create a small sphere of darkness around itself, among other properties that make it very dangerous, if not treated correctly. I'd ordered some before I left to school, but it hadn't arrived yet." With that, Neville slipped the bulb into his robes' pocket.  
  
"You know, I worry about you, Neville," Ron said. "You've got a pot of Devil's Snare in your trunk, and now you're setting out to grow a plant that deliberately makes it darker? Frankly, I'm glad my bed's across the room from yours. I always thought fame knocked a little sense out of people's heads, but this is ridiculous." Neville flushed a little at Ron's rant, but then started.  
  
"Guys, we're going to be late for flying! Come on, let's go!"  
  
*  
  
"Mr. Longbottom, I must tell you something. I have been at Hogwarts for twenty years. I taught your parents, and Mr. Potter's parents, and even Professor Snape how to fly. But Mr. Longbottom, in my twenty years as a teacher of flying on brooms, I have never seen a student so markedly incompetent at it. Thank your lucky stars that passing this class is *not* a requisite for graduation." Harry resisted the urge to snicker. It was hard not to. It wasn't that Neville was bad at flying; he was so ridiculously incompetent that he managed to accomplish things seasoned fliers could only dream of accomplishing, although with less than spectacular results. Currently, he was hanging upside down from his broom, legs locked tightly around the stick of wood. Luckily, his robe had not yet managed to fall over his head, although Harry suspected it was only a matter of time. And Madam Hooch was taking this opportunity to speak with Neville about his flying ability. "Now please release your leg-lock, and I will catch you." There was a long pause, and then Neville flew downward, past the startled professor, and hit the ground with a loud 'thump'. "Well, I suppose that'll do. I'm taking Mr. Longbottom to the infirmary, class. Please do not fly while I am away; I don't want to have to make another trip back to see Madam Pomfrey."  
  
Madam Hooch vanished, leading Neville after her. Almost immediately, Malfoy lunged onto the ground; he straightened, holding a small, paper-wrapped sphere. "Heh. Looks like Neville dropped something. Wonder what it is."  
  
"Drop that; it's very fragile!" Hermione snapped. However, she gasped as she realized that Malfoy planned on fulfilling the command to the letter.  
  
"Draco," Harry warned, "Give me that. It's a rare bulb, and Neville-"  
  
"Ha! If you want it, come and get it!" Malfoy responded, leaping astride one of the school's Cleansweep Fives. He kicked up, taking to the air. And Harry, responding to his anger and the time at home spent training with Sirius and his father, grabbed the nearest broom and began to fly after the Slytherin boy.  
  
"I don't want to have to hurt you, Malfoy," Harry growled, leaning forward to catch up to Malfoy, who seemed genuinely startled by Harry's burst of speed. "Just give me back the bulb-"  
  
"Why don't you let Longbottom handle it himself? He defeated Voldemort single-handedly; he should be able to handle a boy his own age." Malfoy turned to fly higher, and stopped, hovering about twenty feet off the ground. "Or is that the point of it? He can't handle anything on his own? Yeah, you can be Longbottom's knight in shining armor-"  
  
"Shut UP!" Harry screamed, forcing his broom forward in one quick jolt, that hit Malfoy's broom and sent the other boy flying off of it. Unfortunately, the jolt sent Neville's bulb soaring, as well. Ignoring Malfoy, Harry dove after the bulb, leaning close to the broom to increase his speed. But he saw that he wasn't going to make it. The broom just didn't move fast enough. Unless...Harry pointed straight at the ground, and pulled up just a moment before he would hit the ground; speeding parallel to it, he passed right under the bulb, and caught it. "Yes!"  
  
"Mr. Potter." There was no mistaking the quiet, cold voice that spoke, breaking through the warm air. McGonagall. Harry slipped from the broom, and turned to face the Transfiguration teacher.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
"Come with me, Harry," Professor McGonagall said. She turned, pointing her head towards the castle, and started walking, as if she fully expected Harry to follow. Which of course he did; ignoring a direct order from Professor McGonagall was nearly a suicide wish. Harry slipped the paper-wrapped bulb to Hermione, and then miserably followed the teacher. Professor McGonagall knew that Harry had done something wrong; she had probably seen him knock Malfoy from his broom. He was going to be expelled, his wand snapped in half-  
  
"Slatero? May I borrow Mr. Wood for a minute?" Harry abandoned his reverie at the sound of McGonagall's voice. Wood? It didn't make much sense. Why would she need Oliver Wood for this? Unless he was going to scold him for his misuse of a broomstick. He had heard rumors that Oliver kept his own broomstick in a magically-sealed box, and threatened the life of anyone who even *thought* of touching it.  
  
The tan, muscular fifth-year student Harry had seen in Percy's company appeared at the door of Professor Quirrel's Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, giving Professor McGonagall a questioning look.  
  
"Come along, Oliver. You too, Harry." Oliver kept looking confused, about as much as Harry felt, until Professor McGonagall led them into an empty classroom. She led them both in, closed the door, and then turned to Oliver, beaming. "Oliver...I've found you a Seeker." Oliver gave Harry a speculative look; Harry, however, tried to find equilibrium. Seeker? He hadn't even tried out yet, and yet-  
  
"He caught a bulb of shadow-weed after a twenty-foot dive. He could have killed himself, but he pulled out at the last moment. It was quite an impressive catch, and I dare say his father couldn't have done better." Oliver's forehead crumpled at McGonagall's words. However, after a moment of watching Harry, comprehension dawned.  
  
"Harry Potter? James Potter's son?" He looked positively thrilled at the prospect, slightly awed, as well, with a healthy dose of pure amazement thrown in for good luck.  
  
Harry could relate. After all, for the past few minutes, he'd thought he was going to be expelled.  
  
*  
  
"Honestly, you should have been expelled," Hemione snapped, carefully picking up her books. "Or at least given a detention. Malfoy ended up in the infirmary with a nasty bruise on his arm."  
  
Ron, behind Hermione's back, however, gave Harry a thumbs-up. Apparently, he believed giving Malfoy a bruise, taking him down a notch, *and* getting onto the house Quidditch team was an acceptable conclusion to a day's work. He twirled his finger around his ear, gave a very meaningful glance towards Hermione, and winked at Harry. Laughing, Harry supposed, was not the best thing to do when Hermione was trying to lecture him.  
  
"And what is so funny? I think you really need to take the rules more seriously. If you keep doing things like this, you're never going to get out of this school. Really. *Boys*." She stalked away, heading into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Ron rolled his eyes, still grinning.  
  
"She's mental, Harry. That was amazing - I've never seen any kid pull off a move like that. How'd you get so good?"  
  
"You ever play on brooms with Sirius Black, you'll understand the need for excellent control and quick reflexes," Harry responded with a wry grin.  
  
~*~ [A/N – Flashback!]  
  
Harry pulled the broomstick sharply to the left, holding his breath. There was a loud explosion, but it was far enough away-  
  
"AAA!" Harry's broom jolted as someone rammed it; he tried to grab tight onto it, but callous hands pulled his away from the polished wood, forcing him from his broom, sending him spinning down into open space-  
  
"Oof!" Harry hit the large cushion, restraining himself from cursing as he bounced. He glared up at the sky, where Sirius was gliding around on his broom, holding Harry's Nimbus 1500 triumphantly. The man's dark eyes were glittering joyfully, and Harry had to smile. But then he remembered the reason he was on the ground. "Oi, that wasn't fair, Sirius! We agreed you couldn't use a Blasting Hex. Right, Remus?" The man in question was watching the whole exchange, amused. He shifted his gaze between Harry and Sirius, and finally, letting his gaze rest on Sirius, shrugged.  
  
"I'm sorry. I was a bit...*distracted* when you two went over the rules," Remus commented. "I can't help you two." He walked over to Harry and extended a hand to the 9-year-old boy. Harry grabbed the hand and let Remus help him up. A few feet away, Sirius landed, still grinning.  
  
"'Distracted'? Nothing distracts you, Moony."  
  
"Really? I can think of one thing," the other man responded, turning his head away to allow his gold-brown hair to shield his face. Harry couldn't quite figure out what was going on. It was almost like Remus and Sirius were fighting...except their tones were light, they were joking. He supposed it was a grown-up thing.  
  
Sirius laughed and wrapped a casual arm around Remus' shoulders. "Ah, Moony, you have to learn a little control. If you can't resist a little temptation, what am I going to do with you?" Before Remus could reply, Harry tugged at Sirius' robe, frowning.  
  
"Come on, Sirius, you said you'd play with me. And this time don't use the Blasting Hex!" Sirius pushed away from Remus, giving the other man a wink, and hurried after Harry, still holding his broom. And Remus leaned against a tree, readying his wand in order to move Lily's second-favorite cushion under Harry the next time he fell. Which would be a very short time, if Harry didn't improve his skills quickly.  
  
"Sirius!"  
  
~*~  
  
"-So he seriously hexed you to improve your reflexes?" Ron and Harry were heading down to the infirmary to update Neville on their DADA homework (mostly to get out of Hermione's way; she was still ranting about responsibility and broomsticks), and Ron was spending the time trying to figure out how Harry had gotten so good on a broom.  
  
"Well, when my mum wasn't home. He'd just try and catch up with me, *and* he was really good at the Tickling charms."  
  
Ron laughed, looking sideways at Harry. "At least he didn't hide home-brewed pranks in your cereal, Harry. Be grateful for that." Harry nodded, and turned to the door of the infirmary, not noticing Ron's gaze softening for a moment, or how Ron's hand rested close to his own.  
  
"Neville! We got your Defense homework here," Harry announced when Madam Pomfrey finally let them into the infirmary. The chubby boy smiled at him from his hospital, the vine bulb on the table next to him.  
  
"Hullo, Harry. Thanks for my homework...if you hadn't brought it, I'd have to get it from Professor Quirrel." Harry gave Neville a questioning glance, and the other boy shook his head. "I don't know...I hate being around him. It might be all that garlic, but being around him always gives me a headache. You know? It makes it hard to concentrate. Almost as bad as Snape watching me all the time." Neville shivered a little, so Ron jumped into the conversation.  
  
"Don't worry, Longbottom. Snape's just annoyed to be around someone so much better than him." Ron had little love for Snape, who often paired he and Crabbe, a very stupid Slytherin student who managed to counter the little talent Ron *had* for Potions. Harry sometimes wondered why Snape seemed to want to make the two of them suffer; no other Gryffindors were treated that way. And the attention he payed Neville was...unnerving. It was if he expected something out of the boy, some reaction, talent, or something else unnamed. But Harry's thoughts were broken off when he suddenly realized that there was another occupant in the infirmary, laying on a nearby bed. Remus had been slipped under the covers, and rested, his face pale in the afternoon light. Harry held up a hand to quiet his friends, and walked to Remus' side. Madam Pomfrey appeared next to Harry, clucking softly.  
  
"Poor dear's over-exhausted. I've been telling him to eat more, but he just doesn't listen. I just knew this whole thing would be a bad idea; ever since he took up with that Mr. Black..."  
  
"What about Sirius?" Harry asked. He didn't understand what was happening to his parents' friend, and Madam Pomfrey wasn't being clear.  
  
Madam Pomfrey gave him a warm smile, shaking her head. "Remus has never been good on his own. He's always done much better when others were around. Don't worry so much about it, Mr. Potter. He'll be fine by tomorrow. He just needs rest." Harry nodded slowly, trying to believe the nurse; she suddenly glanced at the clock, and tutted. "Oh! You ought to be going, Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. Please, go on. Go! Mr. Longbottom will be fit as a fiddle by bedtime."  
  
Following the nurse's orders, Harry dragged Ron from the infirmary; Madam Pomfrey was forcing a sleeping potion on Neville, so he'd 'rest up before he ate'. Ron took the lead after they left, chattering quietly. But Harry stopped listening after what he saw. Professor Snape entered the infirmary from the other direction, trying to look secretive.  
  
"Hold on, Ron. I left something in there. Give me a second." Harry slipped back to the infirmary and cracked open the door. Snape's smooth voice spoke first.  
  
"Lupin." Harry then heard Remus respond with his warm voice.  
  
"Hello, Severus."  
  
"Don't act like that, Lupin. I want to know what's going on." There was a sigh.  
  
"You know what's happening, Severus. Do you need to hear me say it? Yes, I can't sleep. I can't eat. Yeah, the nightmares are pretty bad. But I can handle it. Poppy's given me some potions-"  
  
"Why do you do this to yourself, Remus? You know you can end this with just a simple choice. Tell me what I want to hear."  
  
"I can't do that, Severus. I...I've made promises." The room fell silent, and when Snape next spoke, it was with a hint of concern and emotion other than malicious amusement.  
  
"Remus, you know what I want."  
  
"And it's not mine to give, Severus. Leave me alone." Remus sounded despondent, tired. "I don't want to talk to Dumbledore over this. I don't want anyone to worry about this." Snape responded with a desperate laugh.  
  
"Right. Our little secret, Lupin. Just remember, Lupin, exactly what I want, and that my door is always open." Harry pulled away from the door, trying to get away before Snape reappeared at the door. He hurried away from the infirmary, the conversation running through his mind. It made no sense to him, but something about it niggled in the back of his mind. Snape wanted something...Remus had access to it, but wouldn't give it up. And Dumbledore...  
  
"Harry, did you get what you needed?" Harry narrowly avoided running into Ron, such was his concentration on his thoughts. He glanced up at the redhead, meeting the hopeful grin with his own startled expression.  
  
"Yeah...sure. I-let's go to dinner." And so they did, Harry trying to figure out what was happening, and what it was supposed to mean. 


	3. Investigathions Into a Theft

3/?  
  
*  
  
Harry glanced around the bedroom, listening for the breathing of his companions. The rest of the first-year Gryffindors were asleep, and that let Harry slip out of the room and down the stairs to the common room. Carrying 'The Book of Ages', Harry sat in one of the chairs. He took another glance around the room. He really hoped that no one saw him; even if Remus said it was a worthwhile gift, it seemed a little hokey, and was sure some people might mock him if they learned he was looking at a *book* for answers. Well, more so than people mocked Hermione.  
  
Finally, Harry flipped open the book. "What's going on with Remus?" he asked, praying that the book could answer a specific question.  
  
"Some things are not meant for man to know, but snooping around never hurts...as long as no one sees you."  
  
Well, that was unhelpful. Harry flipped through the book, wondering if there was anything else printed in it. He found nothing - until the last page. There, printed in tiny lettering, was another message.  
  
"Lust for that which you do not have is the root of darkness."  
  
"You know, I think you're just pretending to be helpful," Harry griped, snapping the small book closed. "Nothing you say makes sense." He looked down at the book, suddenly wondering. The book might not be unhelpful; Remus was often equally obscure when he spoke, but if you took the time to think about what he said, there was usually more information available then you actually wanted to know. So what did this all mean? Well, the first thing seemed to be giving Harry tacit permission to spy on people to figure out what was going on. Which seemed so unlike Remus, or anything he'd approve of. The worst thing he could remember Remus ever doing was almost call Sirius' mother a very unpleasant name.  
  
~*~  
  
"Happy Mother's Day, Lily. Here. I got you a present. Something to keep your family in check when you need a rest." Lily Potter accepted the small, gold-wrapped box, a small smile on her face. She shook her head, still smiling.  
  
"What is it, Sirius?" He only responded to her with a smirk. Remus, sitting on the other side of the table, was watching with his typical half-amusement. Lily pulled open the box, and gasped. "Oh, why it's lovely, Sirius! What does it do?" Sirius dramatically placed a hand on his chest, indignant at Lily's suspicious tone.  
  
"What makes you so suspicious, my lovely redhead? I would no more give you a dangerous gift than I would kiss a werewolf."  
  
Lily glared at him for a long, moment, and then set the delicate faux-silver necklace aside. "I won't dignify that statement with a response, Sirius. I don't think I want to know what this does. I will live in blissful ignorance." The window burst open beside her, suddenly, and a scrawny, black-feathered owl burst into the window. Clutched in its claws was a bright red envelope. The owl swooped at Sirius, and dropped the envelope, leaving the room with an indignant squawk.  
  
"I'd hope she would have waited until later," Sirius muttered, watching the envelope nervously. "She's been sending these every year since..." He trailed off, affording Remus a tired glance. "Lily? Maybe you should take Harry-" But the envelope suddenly burst into flames, and a screeching, horrible voice blasted through the kitchen.  
  
"SIRIUS BLACK! I CAN'T BELIEVE WHAT YOU'VE DONE! EVERY YEAR, ON MOTHER'S DAY, I REALIZE WHAT A FAILURE I AM BECAUSE I HAVE NOT GIVEN OUR FAMILY A SINGLE CHILD WORTHY OF BEING NAMED BLACK. BLOOD-TRAITOR, MONSTROSITY, *BASTARD*! IF I HAD NOT BORNE YOU MYSELF, I WOULD DENY THAT YOU EVEN SHARED BLOOD WITH ME!  
  
"OH, WHAT A HORRID MISTAKE I MADE, GIVING BIRTH TO YOU! IF I'D KNOWN THEN WHAT YOU WOULD HAVE TURNED TO...I HOPE YOU HAVE A HORRID MOTHER'S DAY, KNOWING WHAT SHAME YOU'VE BROUGHT TO THE WOMAN WHO CARRIED YOU FOR NINE MONTHS AND INTRODUCED YOU TO THIS WORLD!" Harry couldn't help it; when the words finally stopped, he burst into tears. He'd never heard his parents, or anyone really, raise their voices and sound so...mad. And that woman's voice was so frightening. One thing was certain; he'd never forget that horrid voice, or what it had done to Sirius to hear it. The black-haired man had sat in his chair for a long time after that, head in his hands, and when Lily had finally calmed Harry down, the boy saw that his godfather was crying. Remus was watching the whole scene with a barely restrained tension. His fists clenched at his sides, he looked very much like he would want to find that horrid woman and tear her to shreds. Finally, he said something, very quiet, but Harry heard it.  
  
"That bit-"  
  
"REMUS!" Lily's tone stopped the exclamation, but Remus managed to get out one more comment before Harry was ushered upstairs for a nap.  
  
"I suppose she'd have been happier if you'd taken up with someone like Snape."  
  
~*~  
  
"You know, Harry, it's against the rules to sleep in the common room." Harry opened his eyes to the faint morning light streaming through the windows of the common room, and a head of messy red hair.  
  
"Ron? Since when did'ou care 'bout rules?" Harry managed.  
  
The speaker chuckled, and leaned closer. Harry blushed a little when he realized he was talking to Percy; the Weasley had a leaner face, was a good deal taller, and had glasses balanced on his nose. "Morning Harry. As I said, you really shouldn't be sleeping out here. If Professor McGonagall found out I was letting students-"  
  
"'M sorry," Harry murmured, "I came down t'think, but I fell asleep."  
  
Percy smiled at Harry, and put a finger up against his lips. "All right, it'll be our little secret. Just...don't make a habit of this, Harry. Hurry up; you'll be late for your first Quidditch practice if you don't." Harry nodded, grateful, and headed upstairs to get ready for practice.  
  
*  
  
Quidditch practice was not as fun as Harry had hoped it would be; he often had to be up before dawn (Percy had lied; if you could see the sun, you *were* late for Quidditch practice), and spent far more of his free time than was healthy on the Quidditch pitch. It was beyond exhausting, and Harry was so desperate to vent that he even took to complaining to Draco Malfoy during Potions, with whom he had been paired. Malfoy rarely said much, just watched Harry with a self-satisfied smirk and continued the Potions work. As uncomfortable as working with Malfoy made Harry, he had to admit that the other boy's knowledge and natural talent was definitely helping his grade in Potions. And putting aside that Malfoy was a Slytherin, he wasn't the worst of company.  
  
Of course, he didn't mention that fact to Ron. Dealing so often with the more unpleasant branch of Slytherin had left Ron bitter towards the entire house; Harry supposed he didn't blame him.  
  
Another month passed, though, and Halloween arrived. Halloween was, among witches and wizards, a bit of a bigger deal than among Muggles. Among long-lived races, the old legends of ghosts and spirits hung on longer, making Halloween consider just a little more important. So on that day, many of the teachers had decided to have special classes. First, Professor Flitwick announced they would not be practicing any charms, but he would instead talk about some legendary magic that the class might find interesting.  
  
After the first twenty minutes, Harry realized that it had been a *long* time since Professor Flitwick had been a kid. But somewhere around the halfway mark, it got good.  
  
"-proof against magic. There are three metals known to resist magic, each with strange properties. The first is mercury, which has its own magical properties. Called quicksilver, it is said that mixtures of mercury can have healing powers, grant invisibility, or sometimes enable longevity. Muggles believe it to be poisonous, but that is because they don't know to hold mercury in the next metal I'll talk about: silver. Silver is one of the most powerful items to use against Dark magic. It can help in the curing of many curses, and often can be used to hold off creatures of the Dark. The poisonous properties of mercury, in fact, can be counter by holding it in a silver vessel. But by far the most fascinating of all of the magical metals is gold." The class fell absolutely silent. Professor Flitwick grinned.  
  
"Thought that'd get your attention. Now, Muggles have it right to like gold so much. Gold is the only metal that cannot be touched by Transfiguration spells. In fact, it's very difficult to do any magic to enchant gold. Being very stable, it is considered to be a metaphor for perfect, healthy life. And thus, it is understandable that the Philosopher's Stone is one of the most sought-after artifacts in the wizarding world.  
  
"The Philosopher's Stone has been created no more than five times in all of human history; Nicholas Flamel, of our era, is the only known holder of it for the past three centuries. But the rarity or singularity of the Philosopher's Stone is not what makes it important. It is its power." The class hung on Professor Flitwick's words, and a great sigh rocked at the edge of their consciousness as he continued. "The power of the Stone is to take anything, however base, and bring it to perfection. The Philosopher's Stone can transform any single metal into the perfect metal: whether you have iron, silver, or even the more volatile metals, such as sodium. The Philosopher's Stone can cure any illness or negate the power of any curse. The Philosopher's Stone can even combat the effects of ageing; in short, the holder of the Philosopher's Stone can live forever. Those who have sought the Stone, however, have discovered one fatal flaw in seeking it. The Stone cannot be made by one who is not perfectly balanced in body, mind, and spirit. And thus, it is only the rarest individual who can even attempt to create the Stone, and only the most singular that actually can. So, Miss Granger, can you tell me why it is important that only the person who can make the Stone should be allowed to use it?"  
  
Hermione started at the teacher's attention, and then responded. "To make the Stone...you must be balanced. You must...you have to not want long life or gold a great deal, or you couldn't succeed. Anyone else would use the Stone for selfish means, but it is safe with its maker, because that is the one person who would be least likely to use it."  
  
Quiet applause came from the door of the classroom, and Harry craned his head to see Professor Dumbledore standing there, clapping his hands.  
  
"Bravo, Miss Granger. Yes, Nicholas is in fact driven only by his desire to acquire knowledge; he uses the Stone very rarely. In fact, I believe he had had it placed into storage at Gringott's Bank." Dumbledore glanced at Harry, and let his gaze drift towards Neville, who was taking hurried notes, although Harry wasn't sure they were necessarily related to what Professor Flitwick was talking about. "I certainly believe that it is a very neat arrangement, don't you? After all, the world almost never has such a neat way of working, unless we nudge it along. Ah, carry on, carry on."  
  
Dumbeldore's leaving actually signaled the end of the interesting portion of the class; Flitwick drifted to less engaging topics, and the class drifted out. The rest of the day really was without mention, except for History of Magic.  
  
"Hello, class," Remus said upon entering. "Given the spirit of things, I thought it might be a good time to discuss some of the more...interesting aspects of this holiday. Halloween, to Muggles, is a holiday of spirits, ghosts and goblins, evil witches, and, some say, the Devil himself." In the third row, Harry caught sight of Neville. Neville was pale, and kept clenching his fists on his desk. "Now, some of these creatures hold myths about them, some of which even witches and wizards believe in."  
  
"Well, what about werewolves?" Lavender Brown, a Gryffindor girl (and, according to Hermione, a bit of a flake) asked. "Everyone knows that they're bloodthirsty monsters, and there's no arguing with that." Remus closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. In his desk, Neville began breathing quickly, occasional hitches in his breathing pattern making it very clear something was wrong.  
  
"Miss Brown is perpetuating some of the most basic myths regarding werewolves-"  
  
"However, teaching about werewolves is something reserved for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Lupin. Perhaps we could bring in Slatero and ask him a few questions about werewolves." Professor Snape was leaning against the door of the classroom, smirking somewhat at the History of Magic class. "Although I suppose canines are your specialty, aren't they?" He grinned with a rather feral smile and drifted into the classroom itself.  
  
"Severus, I am trying to teach a class here-"  
  
"Ah, of course. It didn't sound like a class to me, *Lupin*. It sounded much more like propaganda. You are supposed to be teaching this class *facts*."  
  
Remus was trying to restrain something; Harry could see it. And the look on his face was very similar to the one he held moments before he had tried to call Mrs. Black an unflattering name. "Severus, please state your business or get out of my classroom."  
  
Snape nodded, tapping his forehead. "Of course. I've been thinking, Lupin, and I've come to the conclusion that working with you is much more preferable to fighting all the time. Wouldn't you agree?" Snape slipped behind Remus' desk, and, sitiing down, began to run his hands lightly over the surface. "I mean, with us at each other's throats...well, we could accomplish so much more, *together*."  
  
Neville was breathing very quickly, and it looked like he was going to pass out. Harry glanced at him, and raised his hand, trying to get Remus' attention. But the professor's attention was fully taken up by the Potions teacher. Harry looked at his other friends, hoping to get them to help. However, both of them were unresponsive. Hermione appeared to be faintly nauseated, and Ron looked like he desperately would like to be absolutely anywhere else *but* the classroom. The tableau felt horribly surreal, and Harry didn't know what was going on. Thus, when Neville slumped to his desk, unconscious, and people began to react, Harry was immensely relieved, something which his worry over Neville didn't even begin to match.  
  
*  
  
Dinner at the Great Hall was pretty impressive; thousands of jack-o-lanterns were hovering over the tables, gleaming and providing a ruddy light throughout the hall. The feast, as was tradition (or as the ridiculous amount of pumpkin remains demanded), contained mainly pumpkin-based dishes, and far ahead, on the enchanted ceiling, the full moon hung loomingly over the students. It was a wonderfully gloomy atmosphere for Halloween night, and Harry was enjoying himself immensely, until Neville returned from the infirmary. He slunk into his seat, looking absolutely miserable. Harry took a break from eating to lean over and speak to his companion.  
  
"What happened, Neville?" The boy shook his head, paling a tad.  
  
"It's just, I never, I *hate* Halloween," he complained bitterly. "Everyone always forgets, because they weren't there, it wasn't..." He trailed off, and Harry understood. The next morning would be a day of celebration - the Ministry would be closed, many businesses wouldn't open. But the price of that celebration sat before him, round face pulled down in a miserable pout.  
  
"I'm sorry, Neville." The apology sounded useless, empty, and Harry knew nothing he could say would help the boy sitting next to him.  
  
"Hey, Harry, could you pass the pumpkin juice?" Ron peered over Harry's shoulder and frowned at the sight of Neville. "Oh, are you brooding about History of Magic? I agree; it was horrible. Seeing Snape go on like that...it *still* gives me chills."  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry couldn't see exactly what Ron was concerned about. Sure, Snape was unpleasant, but Ron and Hermione had looked *disgusted* at the teacher's presence. "I mean, Professor Snape wasn't doing anything really upsetting, was he?" Ron gave Harry an incredulous look, and then reached across the table to tap Hermione's hand. She broke off her conversation with a third-year student Harry didn't recognize.  
  
"What is it, Ron?"  
  
"Try to explain to Harry what was going on with Snape, 'Mione. God!" He turned away suddenly, looking ill. Hermione shook her head at Ron's actions, looking almost sad.  
  
"Look, Harry, Snape...well, I don't know quite how to say it. I...I sometimes think, well, Snape doesn't have many friends, you see. None of the other teachers like him very much, and...he's very lonely, Harry." Her cheeks were getting a little flushed as she talked, and Harry wondered if she was feeling hot. He expressed his worry, and Hermione's red cheeks deepened in color. "I..." She gave Ron an accusing look, and he shrugged. Before Hermione could continue, however, the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, admitting Professor Quirrel. He got only halfway before he fell to his knees. Trembling, he stretched a hand up to the high table, to Dumbledore.  
  
"TROLL in the dungeon! I just...I thought you'd like to know." With that, he slumped to the floor, his purple turban lying at an odd angle. At that moment, the hall fell into pandemonium. But Dumbledore's voice rose above all of it.  
  
"SILENCE!" The students froze, some half-up from their seats, until Dumbledore spoke again. "The prefects will take all students to their common rooms. All of the faculty will follow me to find the troll." He nodded to the prefects; Percy began trying to herd the Gryffindors toward the door, and other prefects moved to do the same for their housemates. Hermione, however, leaned over the table, close to Harry and Ron.  
  
"Harry!" she whispered urgently. "Look at Snape!" Harry did without thinking, and gasped. As Snape moved with the rest of the faculty, a sort of grim satisfaction flashed in his eyes. As if he were pleased about something. And it struck Harry how odd it was that *anyone* could be pleased at the moment.  
  
"Come on, Harry. I have to make sure you all get back to the common room. Ron, come along. Mum'd be horrified if she knew I wasn't looking out for you." Percy appeared, pushing Ron and Harry toward the door, shaking his head. "It's a good thing trolls move slowly, or we'd have to worry about that thing being anywhere in the castle."  
  
As the students left the hall, the teachers were already gone, probably in the dungeons, scouring for the troll. Percy led the Gryffindors towards the painting which concealed the entry to the common room, the other prefects herding the middle and back of the group. However, just as they passed the third floor, Hermione froze.  
  
"Harry! Ron! Listen!" Harry tried to explain to Hermione that this was not the time to try snooping in on-holy crap. If that wasn't the roar of a mountain troll, he didn't know what the roar of a mountain troll sounded like.  
  
Well, he actually *didn't* know what the roar of a mountain troll sounded like, but that sound was exactly what he'd *think* it would sound like.  
  
The problem was that they were on the third floor. And the troll was supposedly in the dungeon.  
  
"We need to do something!" Hermione snapped, and hurried in the other direction, right towards the roaring. Ron gave Harry a startled look; his dark eyes almost large enough to fit a Galleon in.  
  
"Is she mad?"  
  
"No time to argue!" Harry snapped, grabbing Ron's arm. "We've got to make sure she doesn't get killed!"  
  
"Well, what about us? I don't want to get killed, either!"  
  
*  
  
They lost Hermione somewhere near a moving stairway, but it became an irrelevant point very quickly, as the next roar from the troll was very, very close. Harry didn't try turning around, but next to him, he could feel Ron turning to glance down the hallway.  
  
"Ron? I don't want to look behind us, do I?" Harry asked. He saw the very tight nod from the corner of his vision. "Well, what do we do? It's a *troll*!" Harry glanced sideways, trying to find a way out, and then saw it. The nearest stairway had shifted into a bridge that led to a huge, wooden doorway. "Come on; follow me!" He grabbed Ron's arm, dashing down the side passage, hoping that the door wasn't locked. It looked like a very sturdy door; it might be able to stop a troll. Finally, they reached it; Harry pulled at the door, thanking anyone who might be listening that it opened, slipped into the room beyond, and slammed the door behind them.  
  
They stood there, breathing hard, huddled near the entry to the room. Ron slumped against Harry, hands gripping his arms tightly.  
  
"Is it over?"  
  
"Yeah," Harry responded, shifting a little closer to his friend. At the moment, being close to someone was driving away the incredible panic he had been feeling. And... "Ron, please tell me that's your breath."  
  
"It isn't yours?" his friend asked nervously. Harry shook his head, dreading the next few moments of his life. While discovering that the hot, heavy breath on the back of his neck was in fact Ron would have definitely gone towards freaking Harry out, the fact that it wasn't made it infinitely worse.  
  
"Lumos," he whispered, holding his wand up. And Harry turned slowly to see what shared the room with them. Hermione, who had read a great deal of Muggle mythology, would have found a good word for what they saw in the room. Harry and Ron, however, could only manage to come to the conclusion that it was really big, that it had lots of teeth, and that the teeth were spread between three heads. "Well, this is a bad thing," he managed to get out, only a moment before Ron screamed.  
  
"Get away get away get away!" he screeched, tightening his grip on Harry's arms.  
  
"Ron!" Harry threw himself into the door, opening it in one push, and came face-to-face with a mountain troll. Ron screamed again, and Harry raised his wand, wondering what he could do against something over ten times more massive than him.  
  
"Reducto!" The shout from behind the troll exploded on its back, stunning the huge creature. It swayed for a moment, and then slumped to the ground, missing Harry by mere inches. Harry nudged the rubbery arm with his foot, watching, fascinated. It wasn't every day you got to get this close to a troll that had tried to kill you. But the momentary silence was broken by Professor Snape, their savior, who was stalking towards the two boys. His wand out, he stopped in front of the two students, glaring at Ron and Harry. "Mr. Potter. Mr. Weasley. What are you doing in *this* part of the castle?" He looked particularly annoyed with their presence *there*, Harry thought, as Professor Snape snapped off a short report to one of the castle's many house elves.  
  
"We..." Ron managed before Hermione appeared behind Snape, panting heavily.  
  
"Professor Snape! I'm so sorry. I ran off from the group...I heard the troll, and thought that maybe I could handle it myself. Harry and Ron were worried about me, and...well, I'm sorry." Hermione looked horrible, tears glittering in her eyes. "I didn't think I'd cause any trouble for anyone-"  
  
"Not cause any trouble, Miss Granger?" Snape sounded amused at the sentiment. "You nearly got two classmates killed, all because you thought you could handle a mountain troll, something no *grown* witch would ever attempt alone. Twenty points from Gryffindor, and I will recommend you for a detention. If not worse." He whirled around, and glided from the students. As he left, other teachers began arriving, wavering between relief and anger at the three that had followed the troll up there. Hermione got her detention, and returned, shame-faced, to the dorms, Harry and Ron following.  
  
When they finally got to the common room, Hermione was near tears. Harry didn't know how to respond, but Ron seemed to have a response. He sat Hermione down in a chair near the big fire, sat next to her, and began rubbing her back, whispering quietly. She seemed to calm down a little under the almost maternal ministrations, but still seemed out of sorts.  
  
"I-you two must hate me!" she sobbed. "I got you in trouble, and I lost points for Gryffindor, and...and I couldn't do this by myself!" Harry sat near Ron and Hermione, the former of which gave him a pointed look, as if to say, 'say something, you prat!'  
  
"Er...we don't hate you, Hermione. No one expects you to be perfect." This only elicited another sob from the girl, leaving Harry more bewildered. "And we decided to go after you. You're our friend, and we couldn't let that mountain troll get you, could we?" Ron gave Harry an encouraging look; he decided to keep going. "And Snape hates us anyway. I doubt you made it any worse. Look, why don't you get some sleep. Tomorrow's my first Quidditch match, you know. And you don't want to be sleepy for it, right?" Hermione managed a weak smile, so headed up to her own room, looking a little less like she was going to break down. As she left, Ron gave Harry a thumbs-up.  
  
"Good job Harry. My mum always used to do that when we'd cry, so..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushed. "So, I say you take your own advice. You've got a game tomorrow, so you should get to bed."  
  
"Like I could sleep after seeing that *thing*," Harry muttered. "What was that?"  
  
"The third floor corridor," Ron responded. "At the beginning of the year, Dumbledore told us to stay out of it, or we'd suffer a painful death. I think you missed most of that announcement."  
  
"Thanks for the warning," Harry grumbled. "We could have been killed."  
  
"Well, we didn't," Ron answered. "And living with my family, you learn that something *not* happening is usually infinitely better than it actually happening."  
  
"Right," Harry responded. "I...yeah, I think I'll take you up on your suggestion. G'night." He headed up to the dorms, making a quick stop by his trunk in his room. He pulled out Remus' book, hoping to find something to get rid of the incredible confusion, tension he was feeling. What he read was a little shocking.  
  
"Remember that a near miss gives you infinitely more than a hit ever does."  
  
Harry wondered how much Remus had ever talked to the Weasleys when he worked on this.  
  
*  
  
The next day, Harry woke up far too early. His dreams had contained far more Snape than was healthy for recuperative sleep, and far too many three-headed, slobbering dogs. His dream seemed to have had some purpose; he remembered running across a black-and-white tiled room, racing Snape, dodging giant dogs, and other things that had receded into faint memories. But what he did remember was Ron's scream, a scream for help. That's when he'd started to run faster, but with every step he took, the screams grew louder-  
  
In any case, he'd woken early from his nightmares, and spent most of the morning trying to calm himself for the match. Playing in front of a stadium of hundreds was a lot different from flying around his backyard with Sirius, Remus the only witness to the events.  
  
It was all too soon that Harry had to report to the changing rooms, where Oliver Wood was pacing. Fred and George appeared a moment later, readying for their job as Beaters, and the three Chasers came a few minutes later. Oliver stopped pacing, and turned to his team. "All right, ladies, gentlemen. This is our first game of the year, and it's going to be fantastic. Okay? We've got a new Seeker, and we know how he works. Twins, stay off him; he can avoid pretty much anything out there, and we need you to pay attention to everything else. All right, let's go out and kick some Ravenclaw butt!"  
  
Harry lost most of the next half-hour; it was mostly a blur of sound and sight. The next part of his memory that was clear was when he was watching the field carefully from near the Ravenclaw goals. Suddenly, one of the Bludgers swung towards the stands. Students screamed and leapt out of the way as the large black ball crashed through the wooden seats. Harry swung around, startled. He saw among the crowd Hermione and Neville, and panicked. He began flying towards them, noticing that the Bludger was making another round; it looked like it was going to hit Neville. Harry leaned close to his broom, trying to fly faster, when it jerked to a halt.  
  
"What?" The broom began to shake back and forth, slowly at first, until it reached a trembling crescendo, and then it bucked forward. "Yah!"  
  
The stadium was blurring around Harry, but as he flipped around a tight circle, one image stuck in his mind. Professor Snape was standing in the crowd, his fingers twitching and his mouth moving in an unmistakable mumble. Snape was doing something, and Harry couldn't stop it. He willed someone, preferably Hermione, to notice, because he couldn't concentrate on doing anything other than hold onto his broom.  
  
There was a horrible moment when Harry was only hanging onto the very tips of his fingers, but he managed to get a real grip only moments before the broom jerked to the left, and something flew into Harry's mouth. He began hacking, coughing, trying to clear his lungs-  
  
He fell. His grip finally failed, and Harry slipped from his broom thirty feet to the ground. There was sharp pain, and incredible feeling of pressure in his lung, and Harry was still coughing. He still was choking, and with a crowd gathering around him, Harry wondered why no one was helping him. And then he realized what exactly had flown into his mouth. With one final hack, he spit out the winged, golden ball into his hand, and collapsed onto the field. The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was the scream of Lee Jordan, the student announcer, his voice amplified several hundred times.  
  
"And Potter gets the Snitch - GRYFFINDOR WINS!"  
  
*  
  
Harry woke up in the middle of the night, his head throbbing. Madam Pomfrey, with the true instincts of a nurse, swooped upon him immediately, holding out a cup of bubbling green liquid.  
  
"Here, drink this." When Harry scrunched up his face, she snapped back, "Well, don't complain! You should have been more careful, or you wouldn't have to drink this. Now, come on, Mr. Potter. Really Quidditch players spend too much time here - if you're not careful you get injured. Hmph." Madam Pomfrey stalked away, but paused before slipping out of the room. "You are to stay here until breakfast tomorrow. And don't you dare wake up early; I want you to get a full night's sleep!"  
  
Harry glared at Madam Pomfrey's potion, wishing he could drain it somewhere, but there were some people you did not even *think* about crossing. He picked up the glass and downed it in one disgusting gulp. Suddenly, the bed next to him writhed, leaving Harry to almost drop the glass on the floor. Ron poked his head out from under the sheets on the next bed, grinning.  
  
"Hey, Harry. You won't believe how hot it got under there."  
  
"Ron, what are you doing here? Madam Pomfrey-"  
  
"Madam Pomfrey can sod herself. I wanted to see you when you woke up. There's a celebration going on in the common room, you know. We're all amazed that you managed it. No one, in the history of Quidditch, has ever caught a Snitch in their throat, you know. Oliver's been sending off owls all night, and even Percy cracked a smile a few times. You, Harry, are nearly a hero. Well, except to Ravenclaw." Harry nodded, returning Ron's grin.  
  
"Thanks. Er...how're you? And Neville? Hermione? I saw the Bludger fly into the stands."  
  
"Ah, it almost hit Neville, but he panicked and dived off the seats." Ron shook his head. "That was an amazing game, you know. How do you feel? Did you have to drink one of Pomfrey's potions? George told me she makes them taste horrible to dissuade students from injuring themselves, you know."  
  
Harry chuckled, and nodded at Ron, gesturing him to sit on the hospital bed. Ron hopped over, sitting cross-legged on the end of the bed. He looked horrendously excited; flushed and a little out of breath, and Harry felt that energy trying to fill the room. It was infectious. "So...did you have a point to all this, or did you just want to sneak into the infirmary for the thrill of it?"  
  
"I dunno," Ron murmured, suddenly looking away from Harry.  
  
"Or do you regularly sneak into other boys' rooms in the dead of night?" Ron didn't respond; instead, he focused his attention on his own feet, and although Harry couldn't be sure, it looked like his cheeks were a tad redder.  
  
"Oi, Ron?" The redhead shook his head, and glanced up.  
  
"Sorry. Got lost in thought there. Y'know, Professor Lupin stopped by while you were in here. He looked horrible, though. And he had bites and scratches all over him, like a dog had been...chewing on him." Harry's mind must have hit the logical conclusion at the same moment it hit Ron's, because a feeling of dread hit him at the same time Ron's face fell into an amazed expression. "Harry...Professor Lupin wasn't at dinner last night."  
  
"So? Are you saying Remus was responsible-"  
  
"He could have let the troll in, Harry. I mean, he's a great wizard..."  
  
"But what's the point? And why would he be in the third-floor corridor, Ron? Look, I guess he could have been up there, but what would be the point?" Ron twisted his face in concentration, and then shrugged.  
  
"I guess you're right, Harry." He placed his hands on the bed behind his and stretched out his legs. "Professor Lupin wouldn't be messing around with big dogs, especially one with so many teeth."  
  
"That's the spirit! So, are you going to brave the halls or try to avoid Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
"Ah, I'll take my chances with the nurse," Ron responded. "I'd rather get chewed out by her with you around than try and avoid Filch on my own."  
  
*  
  
"-reckless, stupid, absolutely forbidden! I can't believe that you risked getting in trouble just to-"  
  
"Keep me company while I was sick," Harry said, stopping Hermione in mid-rant. She shot Harry a fierce glare, and returned her attention to Ron.  
  
"I'm tempted to tell Percy that you-"  
  
"Hermione-"  
  
"NO, Ron, I don't care what you have to say-"  
  
"-Hermione, he really helped out last night. It's very lonely in the infirmary." Hermione examined Harry's eyes, turning her gaze occasionally onto Ron to examine *something* visible in their own gazes. Finally, she sighed, defeated.  
  
"Very well. I suppose I'll keep quiet. But you two need to follow rules; it's very important to stay in line, or who knows what'll happen to you?" Ron gave Harry a roll of the eyes that had very quickly come to mean 'humor her, she's mad.'  
  
"By the way, how'd you get my broom to stop all the jerking and bucking?" Harry asked. Ron glanced away from Hermione, who glanced at her plate. Finally, Ron spoke.  
  
"'Mione, uh...set Professor Snape's robes on fire. He was muttering and glaring at you the whole time, so she figured he was trying to curse your broom, and possibly the Bludger, too."  
  
"Even though I'm positive that it's impossible for someone to keep two curses of that magnitude going at the same time," Hermione interrupted. "I mean, the magic to curse the Bludger requires *undivided* attention, and the magic on a broom would require eye contact throughout the entire period. So it seems unlikely that Snape could have been doing both of them. But it makes me wonder who'd be helping him."  
  
"*Anyway*," Ron said tightly, "Snape started flailing around, screaming, knocked an entire row of teachers into the seats in front of them, and the Bludger and broom plunged to the ground like they were Muggle-made. It was really exciting."  
  
"I feel terrible about it," Hermione said, shaking her head. "What if Professor McGonagall found out?"  
  
"She won't," Harry responded. "Really, Hermione, you're worrying too much."  
  
"Yeah, we've got worse concerns. Like that three-headed dog in the third-floor corridor," Ron muttered. "Could've bitten my arm off, but *Hermione's* worried about *detention*."  
  
"Cerberus?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued. "There's a *canis tricapita* in the castle? Why would anyone keep *canis tricapita* in a *castle*? What in the world is here to guard?"  
  
"Guard?" Harry demanded. "What do you mean, 'guard'?" Hermione took a deep, 'I cannot believe how stupid the two of you are' breath.  
  
"Members of the species *canis tricapita*, although they have three heads, are not particularly intelligent. It has been known that they could perform simple tasks, and have an incredible sense of loyalty. If you befriend a *canis tricapita*, it will protect you with its life, and, being nearly immortal, if you give it a task, it will perform the task for eternity. Telling one to guard something is one of the best ways to protect it."  
  
"So, are you saying that monster is...protecting something?" Ron managed. Hermione nodded. "So, what could it be protecting?"  
  
"I've no clue," Hermione responded. "But whatever it is, it's tremendously valuable. Cerberi are prohibitively expensive, and no one would take up the cost unless the treasure were far more valuable by itself."  
  
"So...what is it?"  
  
"Well, it's nothing ordinary. Or anything even of medium rarity...I'm going to have to do research." Hermione picked up her books from the breakfast table and fled the Great Hall, eager at the prospect of the library.  
  
"I've said it before and I'll say it again," Ron chuckled. "She's utterly mad."  
  
"In a good way," Harry added.  
  
"Yeah. A good way." There was a pause as Ron took another plateful of eggs. "What's a bad way?"  
  
"Snape."  
  
"Ah."  
  
*  
  
Once again, time blurred somewhat as classes took over their lives; Harry found his life a delicate balance between homework and Quidditch, and Ron apparently spent a lot of the month of November tracking down other students and challenging them to wizard chess. He was feared among the academics, and it was said that you could clear a room of Ravenclaws by announcing Ron Weasley's presence. Potions, if possible, became even less pleasant, up to the point where Harry seriously considered slipping valerian into his next potion so that he'd lose consciousness and get to go to the infirmary.  
  
In the second week of December, Harry received some unpleasant news. At the breakfast table, his parents' owl had delivered a short letter; in short, it announced that they were traveling to visit relatives in the States, and that Harry would have to stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas break. He took it hard, moping and growling at others for the next week and a half. Nothing Ron, Hermione, or Neville said changed his mood, and it got to the point where Hermione refused to even help Harry with his homework, stating that 'boys are impossible!'  
  
Thus it was that Ron found Harry in the common room, sulking, three days before Christmas break. He jumped into the nearest chair, and at first waited for Harry to pay attention to him. When that didn't work, Ron, poked his friend.  
  
"Come on, Harry, it isn't the end of the world. It's one Christmas, and...hey, a lot of kids stay here over Christmas. My parents are visiting my brother in Egypt, and I have to stay here, too." Ron peered over at Harry. "Hey. Are you okay?"  
  
"My family always makes a big deal about Christmas; Sirius told me how when they were younger, they'd all have a big party the night before to remind them how much they care for one another. He always said Christmas was a very special anniversary for him, as well. I...I just don't want to be away from them this year."  
  
"Well..." Ron looked a little uncomfortable as he thought, but he continued. "Your parents are going, right? Why don't you see if you can stay with Sirius while they're gone? They should be fine with you spending time with your godfather, right?" At Ron's words, Harry's mood lightened. Of course! Surely he could spend the vacation with Sirius. It wouldn't be the same, but Remus could come over, and Peter, and it could be a smaller celebration, and happy even if his parents weren't there. Harry reached out a hand and patted Ron's shoulder.  
  
"Thanks, Ron. I was so worried, and you helped out a lot. Hey, maybe I'll talk to Remus and ask him what he thinks about it. So long!" He hopped out of his chair, more cheerful, and slipped out through the portrait-hole. Ron remained in his chair, however, staring aimlessly about the common room.  
  
"Merry Christmas, Harry," he whispered, his voice dejected. "Have fun."  
  
*  
  
Harry passed the infirmary, paused in the passageway directly after it, trying to remember how to get to Remus' office on Thursdays. Suddenly, there was a voice behind him.  
  
"Potter." Harry whirled, coming face-to-face to the pale visage of Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Malfoy-"  
  
"Oh, don't sit there ready to hex me, Potter," Malfoy retorted before Harry could even get off a thought. "Look, given the fact that it's Christmas and all, goodwill towards men and all that rubbish, I got you a gift. Here. Don't open it until you absolutely have to, and don't bother thanking me. I don't need gratitude." He handed Harry a package wrapped in silver paper with green bows wrapped delicately around it, and then stalked towards the Slytherins' dungeons. Harry looked down at the present...it didn't *look* dangerous, but he didn't want to trust it. Yes, Malfoy could be tolerable, but Harry didn't see him as the Christmas present type.  
  
He slid the present into one of his pockets, and then took the direction he *hoped* would lead to Remus' office. But as he passed an empty classroom, a voice caught his attention. Snape.  
  
"So, are you beginning to see things my way, Lupin?" There was the sound of someone moving a chair, and then a growl.  
  
"No, Severus. I'm not doing anything for your benefit. What's going on is..."  
  
"I know very well what's going on, Lupin. If you can't accept the fact that this is your only shot at happiness-"  
  
"I *am* happy, Severus."  
  
"Really?" Snape sounded amused, almost innocent in his query. "Is that what you were doing Halloween night? Being happy?"  
  
"Look, Severus-"  
  
"You're tired of all this, aren't you, Lupin? Just help me, and...you'll get your own benefits." Neither teacher spoke for a long time, and Harry took the opportunity to draw close to the door. But he jerked away when a loud clapping sound.  
  
"Get away from me, Severus. I think this is an appropriate time to remind you that our relationship is purely professional." Remus' voice was icy, a tone Harry had *never* heard, not even in the moments when he'd been most angry. "Maybe it's a good time to remind you that what you're trying to take is something that does *not* belong to you. I wouldn't betray his trust-"  
  
"That you put such value in something so base!" Snape snapped.  
  
"Not any longer," Remus whispered. Something clicked in Harry's mind.  
  
Remus was trying to get past the dog, which was guarding something. Snape kept trying to get some sort of information out of him.  
  
'To take anything, however base, and bring it to perfection.' Suddenly, it made a hell of a lot more sense.  
  
"Remus is trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone."  
  
*  
  
Harry returned to his room at a run, trying to deny the truth that was pounding in his head. Remus wanted the Philosopher's Stone; it made sense, if you understood that Remus was very ill. Almost monthly, he came down with a very nasty cold. It only lasted a few days, but the frequency hinted at something far more serious. And the Philosopher's Stone-  
  
And Snape was trying to get involved, he supposed. Had found out about it and was trying to get something out of it. Harry had thought he'd sealed the curtains around his bed securely, but they suddenly parted, and Neville peered in.  
  
"Harry? Is something wrong?" Harry shook his head, ducking it to keep his friend from seeing-  
  
"You're crying," the other boy accused. He slipped through the curtains and sat at the edge of the mattress, giving Harry a-well, not a sympathetic look, but an understanding one. "Explain." Harry looked at Neville, recognizing the same firm sense of resistance his mother achieved when she *was* going to get an answer, no matter who was involved. He doubted he could escape the room, and even if he did, he was sure Neville would be there hours later, and he'd hate trying to convince Percy to let him sleep in the common room. The only question was how much to tell him.  
  
"I just...I found out some things I don't think I would have wanted to know," Harry stated, hoping the obscure statement would be good enough. "Re-Professor Lupin-"  
  
"Oh." Neville began looking more pitying as he scratched his leg idly. "Well, Harry, Professor Lupin is an adult. And I know he's a family friend and you feel close to him, but he has to make his own choices without undue interference, even if you don't agree with them. Even if you think they're really bad choices-"  
  
"But he and Snape-"  
  
"Harry, you have to be willing to accept this and move on," Neville said simply, looking for all the world like Hermione lecturing him.  
  
"Accept it? What he's doing is wrong!" Harry snapped.  
  
Neville blanched. He took a deep breath, and then when he spoke, sounded very much like he was fighting to keep himself under control. "Harry...please don't tell me you think that way."  
  
"Of course I do!" Harry responded. "It's theft, plain and simple; I mean, there has to be a pretty damn good reason for a three-headed dog to be guarding it!" Neville froze, his mouth open, as if a response was already on his tongue. He suddenly closed his mouth, and, looking embarrassed, said,  
  
"What?"  
  
"Remus...I think that Remus set that troll loose in the school so that he could get to the third-floor corridor without anyone noticing," Harry explained. "There's something hidden there, and I think Remus wants it. And Professor Snape is trying to get involved; I heard the two of them talking in a classroom just now, and...Neville, I think it's the Philosopher's Stone!" Neville gave Harry an odd look, and hopped off the bed.  
  
"Wait here, Harry. I'm going to get something to help you calm down." He returned a moment later, holding a small teacup. "Here. I always drink this after I have an upsetting nig-experience, and it always helps me to stop panicking and think clearly."  
  
"Thanks, Neville." Harry took the cup and sipped at it. The first swallow went down, and he resisted the urge to choke. "Ugh! This stuff tastes like old socks." Neville shrugged, and Harry downed the rest of the tea quickly. Almost at the moment he swallowed the rest of the liquid, his eyes felt heavy. "Neville? Am I supposed to be...so sleepy?" He yawned, fighting the exhaustion overcoming him. On his side, Neville smiled guiltily.  
  
"Sorry, Harry, but I really think you need rest at the moment; you're not thinking clearly. Everything will make more sense tomorrow morning, okay? It's an old recipe for dreamless sleep, so you'll feel better."  
  
Harry tried to fight, to yell something, but instead, he lay back, letting his eyes slide closed, and fell asleep.  
  
*  
  
Neville had claimed his sleep would not have dreams, but something haunted Harry's sleep anyway. He couldn't remember much, mostly feelings. A swish of a cloak, the thump of a staff against stone, and a 'whooshing' sound, that ended in a wet thunk. Occasionally, a voice spoke, but its works failed to stick with him. What he did remember was very nearly useless; a snippet of conversation, Sirius speaking.  
  
"I don't know how he got the job as Defense professor, but I wouldn't listen to a word he says..."  
  
Harry awoke at seven the next morning sweaty and with his glasses bent out of shape. He shook his head, trying to clear it of strange memories, and reached over to his bedside table to grab his wand. His arm gave a sharp complaint, so Harry pulled up the sleeve of his robe. What he saw nearly made him shout; From his hand to his elbow, his arm was red and blistered, and was throbbing painfully. It was if someone had set his arm on fire, except that there was not a single hint of scorching on his bedclothes. Furthermore, his wand wasn't on his bedside table. He must have grabbed it in the middle of the night, Harry mused, and dropped it at some point. He fumbled under his bed with his good hand, only to actually let out a cry when a hand touched his shoulder.  
  
He whirled, breathing hard, and saw Neville standing above him, holding Harry's wand. "Hullo, Harry. I found this on the floor when I got up." He smiled shyly. "It looks like you threw it across the room, you know. Come on, do you want breakfast?" Harry nodded numbly, not thinking too much, or he would have remembered his arm. He took the wand in his left hand and followed Neville out of the dorm. When he got to the portrait-hole and Neville passed him, he caught a whiff of a very distinctive scent, one he remembered from several accidents when he was younger. Neville was very nearly soaked in Lockhart's Living burn cream, and his forehead, especially the area around his scar, was a shade redder than the rest of his face. 


	4. Christmas Preparations

4/?  
  
*  
  
That morning, Harry found that Ron and Hermione were both watching him very carefully, as if he were about to sprout horns or something. Neville must have told them what Harry had been worried about, and that made him feel worse. They seemed to believe that Harry had lost his mind, even though Ron had first suggested that Remus was trying to steal what the dog was guarding.  
  
So they didn't trust him. Harry was determined to go through the whole day and not talk to either of them; that would definitely show that he was upset, and might make them understand how much it hurt to be treated so...callously.  
  
However, he needed help on a History of Magic essay, on current events, and he knew that Hermione would be likely to have old 'Daily Prophets' to look through. So he tried to talk to her without bringing up any of the topics that would remind her that she was supposed to be thinking he was crazy.  
  
"Hermione. I need old 'Daily Prophets' that talk about the pro-vampire movement," Harry mentioned over lunch. Hermione glanced up at him, startled.  
  
"I thought you weren't talking to us today."  
  
"I wasn't, but I need to pass History of Magic," Harry retorted. "So do you have any or not?"  
  
"Well, of course, but it'll take a while. I haven't gotten around to sorting all of the articles yet. Come along to the common room, and I'll show you." He followed Hermione through the corridors, trying to look normal (how did someone do that? He didn't really know how a non-crazy person was supposed to act), and flopped into a chair as Hermione headed upstairs to her dorms (apparently, boys could not climb the stairs to the girls' dorms, but the reverse was not true. Harry tried to bring it up during a conversation about sexism, and had vowed never to mention it again). Hermione returned five minutes later holding about a dozen newspapers.  
  
"All right, Harry. Here they are. Newest on the top." Harry took the newspapers and removed the first one from the pile. It was dated August 5, which Harry noted only because he'd been at Diagon Alley with Sirius the day before. He checked the index on the front page, but another piece of information caught his eye. It was a headline.  
  
'GRINGOTTS ROBBED! NOTHING TAKEN, BUT SECURITY TIGHT'  
  
"Hermione, did you see this?"  
  
"What?" Hermione asked, distracted by an article in another copy of a paper. Harry pointed at the headline he had seen, and Hermione gave him a worried look. "Harry, this doesn't-"  
  
"Listen to this! 'Although nothing was stolen from the vault which was broken into, the Gringotts goblins said it was only because the vault had been emptied that very day. They also said that only a master of Dark magic could have achieved this'...and here: 'the goblins would not say what was in the vault, but they did say that it was very rare, and one goblin, off the record, said, "I'm just glad the old coot took it first; it wasn't supposed to be lying around."' Look, Hermione, I..."  
  
"Harry, I think you should talk to Madam Pomfrey. I know that you're under a lot of pressure, what with Quidditch, and homework-"  
  
"I'm not crazy, Hermione!"  
  
"But Harry, you're talking about things that make no sense. You're insisting Professor Lupin is betraying Dumbledore's trust, that he's trying to steal something from the third-floor corridor, and that the thing is the Philosopher's Stone!"  
  
"Dumbledore told us it was being stored in Gringotts," Harry argued, desperate to get his point across. Hermione sighed, and gathered the papers in her lap.  
  
"Harry...Neville told us about last night, and I think that you're just upset, and stressed, and you need someone to talk to." Hermione stood up, walking around behind Harry. She placed a light hand on his shoulder. "Harry, please. Even if you just talk to Professor McGonagall, just consider it."  
  
"Talk? You really think I'm nuts, don't you?"  
  
"Harry, what you're talking about is bridging the gap from improbable to ridiculous. I...look, I saw Professor McGonagall this morning, and she can fit you in tomorrow afternoon. Please, Harry."  
  
Harry let his head slump, demonstrating just how he felt. He did, however, nod in assent.  
  
"Thanks, Harry. Look, we're only doing this to help you. Please tell me you're not mad."  
  
"I'm not mad, Hermione." He turned away. Hurt would be a better word to use. Hermione, grinning thankfully, threw her arms around Harry's neck.  
  
"Thanks, Harry."  
  
"Yeah, thanks."  
  
*  
  
"Dear Harry," the letter read, "Since your mother and I won't be around for Christmas, I thought it would be nice to send you a gift a little early. Actually...your mother doesn't know about this; we've gotten you another gift that will arrive in time. This is just...something extra. Keep it secret except to those you trust, and use it well. Love, Your Favorite Father. P.S. Would you write to Sirius and tell him how Remus is? They didn't leave on the best terms, and we haven't heard much from Moony, and...we're worried. Don't worry too much, just a quick note. Thanks!"  
  
Harry looked over the package that had arrived around lunchtime with an errant owl, and then pulled it open. If his father had sent it early, he meant Harry to open it early, he reasoned. Harry felt a gasp rise in his throat as he recognized the shimmering, almost silver fabric in his lap.  
  
"Dad, you didn't!" His father's Invisibility Cloak lay in Harry's lap, winking in the almost-darkness. Sirius had told Harry about the sorts of exploits one could get up to in an Invisibility Cloak (and Remus had interrupted just as Sirius was about to tell him about the most interesting ones), and at the moment, Harry was realizing just how valuable the Cloak could be. If he could go to his meeting with Professor McGonagall with *proof* that Remus and possibly Snape were trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, no one would believe he was crazy.  
  
He took a moment to listen to the room; regular breathing all around him told him that everyone else was asleep, and it would be safe. A phrase came unbidden to his mind. 'Snooping around never hurts...as long as no one sees you.' And no one would see him as long as he wore the Cloak.  
  
Harry let the cloak drape over him, and slipped out of bed. He tiptoed across the room. Even though everyone was asleep, he'd learned early on that Ron was a light sleeper. It made sense, given who his brothers were. If Harry lived in the same house as Fred and George Weasley, he would learn to wake up at the slightest noise, too. He paused at the entrance to glance in the full-length mirror that was stuck to the door, and grinned at the realization that there was no reflection looking back at him. With that, he left the room, climbing down the stairs to the common room. He had a slight worry that Percy might be there, but the redheaded prefect was nowhere to be seen. And as long as no one saw-or heard him, Harry would be fine. He supposed the portrait that guarded their common room, a chubby woman with an eternal grin, might have questions about why shy was pushed open at midnight, but that was the least of Harry's concerns. He walked through the maze-like corridors, following a path he had composed in his head, whose end was Remus' bedroom. It was a tense fifteen minutes, each step shadowed by the worry of Mrs. Norris, the cat of the building's caretaker, Argus Filch. And finally, Harry reached the door of his teacher and friend. He hated doing this, but he needed proof, needed something to confirm his worries.  
  
"Hershey," he muttered to the door, which slid aside soundlessly. He slipped into the room, trying to stay as far away from the bed as possible, in the hopes of not waking Remus. But there was no body in the bed, and no sign that Remus had even gone to sleep. Thankfully, Harry slipped off the cloak and headed to Remus' desk. Remus was a researcher, so the desk should have everything important to Remus. As a result, the top drawer was stuffed full of Muggle chocolate bars. From Switzerland. And California. The next drawer held class notes, mostly, lesson plans and papers still in the process of being graded. And the bottom drawer...was locked.  
  
No standard unlocking spell was going to do it; Remus was too bright for that. So Harry reopened the top drawer, and rooted around until he found what he remembered from years ago. A small box cleverly disguised as a Chocolate Frog contained a gold key, and with it, Harry opened the bottom drawer. And found the letters.  
  
"Moony," began one. "I'm sorry about the way we left things. I was upset, I suppose. I've had a lot of time to think, and I realize that I was unfair. What Snape wanted wasn't his to take, or mine to lose. It belongs to you, whatever anyone else says. I...I know the hell you're going through right now, and I'm sorry I can't make it better. But maybe you can find something to help, from what I've heard about Dumbledore. If it's true, please tell me, Moony. Rem...I'm sorry. Penitently, Sirius."  
  
Nothing. Harry flipped to the next letter, and skimmed through the next few. They were mostly letters from Sirius, becoming more and more frantic and desperate from letter to letter. And then the last one he read...  
  
"Lupin, I don't know what's going on up there, but I have a good idea. I got a letter from Severus Snape yesterday, making it painstakingly clear how you're doing. Why? Was this job an excuse, or did one month with a full moon make you desperate enough to fuck Snape? I don't know what he offered you, or if you're even getting anything out of it, but I'm sick and tired of this. Just...I hope you're happy there, because you're not welcome home anymore. Sincerely, Sirius Black."  
  
What the hell? Harry stared at the letter for a full five minutes. He could understand the anger in the letter, but one of his major problems was his inability to comprehend one of the words in it. He felt it was important to understanding a lot of the reasons behind the incendiary words, but for the moment, it offered fresh insight, so he stuffed it into his pocket. He closed the drawer, locked it, and turned to the door. However, the moment he stepped out, he realized he'd forgotten the Invisibility Cloak. And that was a mistake, because Mrs. Norris was sitting right outside of Remus' bedroom. Harry lunged back inside for the cloak, even as Mrs. Norris began to screech, loudly.  
  
"Mrs. Norris? Oh, you say there's a student in here? Trying to hide from old Filch? Ha! Come on, let's get in here, take a look...Hershey!" Harry struggled to pull the last edge of the cloak over him just as the door opened. Filch inhaled sharply as he examined the room. "No one here...they must be somewhere else. Well, we'll find them, my dear, won't we? Come along."  
  
Harry felt relief touch him as the door closed; he drifted to the door, listening. When he was convinced that Filch was not going to jump at him when he opened the door, Harry slipped through. However, Harry didn't have time to waste getting back; Filch was notorious for making things very difficult for students, and he didn't have time for difficulty. Harry began running, taking turns whenever he came, heading right for the Gryffindor entrance. The results of that hurried flight were not the common room; Harry suddenly found himself at a dead end, staring at an open classroom. The sounds of Filch muttering quietly were behind him, so Harry flew towards the open door, closing it behind him. The door locked of its own accord, leaving Harry alone in the empty room. He let the cloak slip for a moment, to give him some breathing room, and when he turned to face the window, he saw something that took his breath away.  
  
He saw...himself. He was in his parents' living room, reading a book. Sirius and Remus, as they often did, had draped themselves over the couch, Remus reading some obscure tome and Sirius taking in the world around him, occasionally letting his gaze rest on Harry or Remus. The room was quiet, comfortable, and Harry felt warm just looking at it. There was something intangible in the scene that was nagging at his mind, but for the moment...  
  
His parents weren't there. Harry realized with a start that his parents were absent from the picture, that the room in fact contained very few pieces of evidence that Harry even had parents. He reached for the mirror, wondering, until he saw the inscription.  
  
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," it read, carved in flowing, sharply-marked letters. Harry frowned at them, wondering what language they were written in. Only the word 'Erised' looked like it might be a real word in another language; the rest looked like someone had run random letters together, or made some sort of cipher.  
  
"Erised," he muttered. "Heh. 'Desire' backward-" He suddenly ran to a desk and pulled out a quill, and pulled Sirius' letter from his robe. He scribbled down the words, and then...  
  
"I show not your face but your heart's desire..."  
  
"Indeed." Harry whirled, coming face-to-face with an aged, cheerful face with shining black eyes. "Hello, Mr. Potter."  
  
"Professor Dumbledore..."  
  
"Yes, Harry. I won't ask you what you're doing here, if you don't ask me what *I'm* doing here; are we in agreement?"  
  
"Ah...yes, Professor."  
  
"Good. I'm surprised you figured out the mirror. Very few realize what the inscription means." Dumbledore sat in one of the desks, and made an odd grunt. "Hm. It's been such a long time since I've sat in the desk of a student. But...well, I'm the student now, Harry, which makes you the teacher. So tell me. What does the mirror do?"  
  
"Er...it shows you whatever you want?"  
  
"Ah...more than that, Harry. There are a few people...some precious people who would not see the magic in the Mirror of Erised. Some people, who are content with their lives, would see only themselves in the mirror. So. What does it do?"  
  
"It shows...it..." Harry stopped, and *thought*. If you were really happy, you had everything you could ever want. Which meant-  
  
"It shows the thing you want the most, doesn't it?" Dumbledore nodded, once. A surge of anger suddenly hit Harry, and he stormed toward the headmaster. "So why does it show me without my parents? With Sirius and Remus, but not Mom and Dad?" Dumbledore gave Harry a sad smile, and then pushed himself to his feet.  
  
"Alas. It seems I am, once again a teacher. Harry...the mirror shows you with the one thing that you do not possess which you would most like. You have your parents, and I believe are very happy with them. To see them in the mirror would indicate a part of your life in which you are lacking. To see Sirius and Remus...perhaps in your relationship with them, there is something missing; perhaps there is an element you wish with them. I cannot explain..." Professor Dumbledore suddenly sobered. "However, I must warn you, Harry, of the dangers of the mirror. Even men who understand its power...they cannot be drawn away from the mirror. For them, the image of that which they most desire is...more attractive than reality. And...I would advise against telling others what the mirror holds for you. The knowledge it holds is a double-edged sword, you see."  
  
Dumbledore pressed a hand against the glass, and then glanced at Harry.  
  
"And, Harry? It might be a good idea to not look for this mirror again. It is to be moved...elsewhere in the castle, and finding it again could be very dangerous. Because one's dreams change, and if you were to find an image which you could not escape...please, promise me you will not look for the mirror again."  
  
"I, of course, Professor." Dumbledore nodded, and then picked the Invisibility Cloak from the floor. When the headmaster handed Harry the cloak, he had an inspiration. "Professor? What-what's in the third floor corridor? Other than-the dog?"  
  
Other people might have looked shocked, or angry, at the prospect that a student would be probing into this. But Dumbledore only tilted his head, and then shook it. "You know I can't tell you, Harry. The third-floor corridor is off-limits for a reason. But you're smart, Harry. I believe you already know what's there." He winked, and then glanced toward the door. "Argus has left the area, Harry, if you would like to get back to your common room. And I would certainly advise that you get some rest. After all, you have a final exam in Potions tomorrow." He patted Harry on the back, and pushed him towards the door, which swung open without a sound. "And don't worry so much, Harry. It may not seem the case, but as long as I am in this school, everything is under control." He gave a final wink, and Harry left the room.  
  
*  
  
When Harry woke up the next day, he felt...well, calmer than he'd been in nearly a week. He found the letter stuffed in his robe's pocket, and upon seeing it, he felt a rush of shame. He'd taken something very personal, and for what? To support his own wild theories. He read the letter over again, and then remembered his father's request. Tell Sirius how Remus was doing. The letter made it painfully clear that Sirius didn't care, but-  
  
Harry wanted to write his godfather anyway. He no longer felt the need to go home; it would be too tense, painful to be there, with Sirius angry at Remus, his parents gone, and Peter was never good company, even on good days. He folded the letter and headed down to the common room to write a quick note.  
  
"Dear Sirius..." After that note, he ran out of ideas. Harry frowned at the empty parchment, feeling lost. What could he write that wouldn't make him sound crazy? 'I've been snooping around the school trying to prove that Remus is trying to use the Philosopher's Stone for his own nefarious purposes, and by the way, Professor Snape is in on the action, too'. He doubted Sirius would take it any differently than Hermione and Ron. Harry crumpled the note and tossed it into the fireplace.  
  
"It's no use." A quiet sound behind him brought Harry's attention back to the world around him, and he turned to see Professor McGonagall.  
  
"Good morning, Harry," she said simply, taking a seat next to him. "I'm glad to see you're up and about. Are you having a problem?" He knew very well why she was there, but was tired and frustrated and didn't care a whit about it.  
  
"Yes. Ron, Hermione and Neville all think I'm crazy. *You* think I'm crazy. And there's just so many things going on that I don't understand. I'm trying to make sense of it all, but...no one will listen to me."  
  
"Well, then, Harry. What if I listen to you? Come along; you can talk as we walk."  
  
So Harry followed McGonagall, and he told her most of everything. How he'd run into the three-headed dog. The conversations he'd overheard. Even about the letters, although he claimed he was visiting Remus, and they'd been lying out. When he finished, they had reached McGonagall's office and were seated on opposite sides of her desk. She looked worried, and somewhat annoyed, and after a moment or two of silence, spoke.  
  
"Harry, I will not lie to you and say you are imagining all of what you've concluded. There is a great deal of truth to some of your assumptions. However, I am afraid that in some things, you are leaping at shadows. Harry, no teacher at this school would try and steal...well, you know anyway; it won't do any harm. No one in this school is going to steal the Philosopher's Stone, much less the teachers. They've all contributed to protect it, and *that* is why the corridor is off-limits. I would be wary of entering it, and I believe that even Dumbledore...  
  
"Harry, Dumbledore has everything under control. He knows a great deal more than he lets on to, and if there is a threat, he is ready to take care of it. I would advise that you try to forget what you have seen and heard in regard to the Stone, however. Focus on your schoolwork, perhaps, and try to relax. If someone tells me that you're behaving like this again, Harry, I will have to take measures to reduce the stress in your life." She held up a hand before Harry could ask a question. "And no, I will not reduce your homework. There is, in fact, only one activity you are involved in which I could cut back on. And I do want us to win the Quidditch Cup this year, Harry, so please try to get some more rest. If you're having problems, talk to Madam Pomfrey, and she can whip up something to help." She gave Harry a surprisingly warm smile, and pushed a plate of chocolate biscuits at him. "Here. These work wonders when I'm under stress. And I *do* hope that you won't have any more problems. You're a bright boy, and you shouldn't have to worry about things beyond your control."  
  
*  
  
Professor McGonagall was right. Harry pushed all the worries and theories to the back of his mind and focused on his last day of classes. His Potions test went well, he thought. The essay about wolfsbane and its applications in common potions threw him a bit, but he thought he'd done well. In History of Magic, he breezed through Remus' essay about persecution of non-humans in European history, and in Transfiguration, he managed to turn his teacup into a goblet with little trouble, even though the goblet still had a handle and was lily-patterned. And by dinner, he was reasonably more relaxed, and far less worried about the Stone. His friends were visibly relaxed, too, to see him not worried about Remus and Snape any more. [A/N: 'Remus' and 'Snape' should *never* be that close together in a sentence, and I promise it will not happen again. Well, maybe.]  
  
Christmas holidays started, and more than half the students vanished to their homes, families. Ron and Harry were left alone in their dorm, taking care of one of Neville's plants. It was one of the carnivorous ones, which meant you had to be a little careful when feeding it, or you might lose a bit of a finger. The first day of the vacation was quiet, comfortable, but that night...  
  
Harry had more strange dreams on Christmas Eve, more vivid than the ones the night Neville had drugged him. And more frightening.  
  
There was a dark, dank room he didn't recognize, and soft voices whispering.  
  
'-told you I can help you, if you'll just give me what I want.' There was a growl that suddenly turned into a shocked moan. And then a short gasp.  
  
'Stop it. I'm not going to-'  
  
'But you want to.'  
  
There was an open clearing in a dark forest, and two men were arguing. The words were indistinct, but one quavering voice was unmistakably Quirrel's. But then the other voice, the unpleasantly high-pitched one, rose its volume just enough.  
  
'-and Snape has been pushing you, hasn't he? Bad enough that he's gotten to Lupin-'  
  
A huge stone chamber, at least twice as large as the Potions room, and containing only one thing. A body sprawled on the ground, unmoving, lifeless. And Harry moved closer, trying to see beyond the shadows, to know who was-  
  
And behind him there was the sound of something cutting through the air, and a sharp pain-  
  
*  
  
"Harry!" Ron's voice pulled Harry out of his nightmare, and immediately upon waking, he realized his right hand felt like it was on fire. Ron was shaking him, his face etched with worry, and his skin pale. "Harry, are you all right? You were moaning and shaking and-shit! Your arm!" Harry glanced at his arm, and froze. It was so much like the last time this had happened, except that the wand was still clutched in his hand, and the heat was trailing slowly up his arm. With a shout, Harry flung the wand away from him, watching as it hit Neville's flowerpot. The plant tried to eat the stick of wood, but recoiled, its mouth steaming.  
  
Ron grabbed Harry's good arm, pulling him up from his bed. "Come on; we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey. That burn looks nasty!"  
  
Harry yanked his arm away, shaking his head. "No; I'll be fine. I...I'll be fine in a few hours. It's happened before."  
  
"It-this has happened before? So why the hell didn't you go to Madam Pomfrey?"  
  
"Because I can't explain why it happened. All I remember are dreams about teachers, nightmares about my friends dying, and I wake up with my hand burning and my wand halfway across the room. Does that sound like the sort of thing that happens to a normal person, Ron?"  
  
"No, but-"  
  
"Look, Ron, I've already worried you all when you thought I was nuts. This is-this is weird, and I'm not going to tell someone else and let them decide that I belong at St. Mungo's. Just...let it go, okay? I'll be fine." Ron stepped away from Harry a step or two, and Harry sighed. "Look, don't worry about me, okay? Why don't we go open Christmas presents, huh?" Ron nodded uncertainly, and Harry, grinning, led him back upstairs.  
  
Ron opened his present, growling at the sight of a maroon jumper, hand-sewed, and marked with an embroidered 'R'. "Mum gives me one every year; she knows I hate maroon." To cheer him up, Harry nudged his own present towards Ron, knowing the boy would appreciate it. Ron nearly choked when he saw the marble chess pieces. "Harry- can't-!"  
  
"Ron, it's a gift. You're supposed to take it. Look, I thought you'd like a really good set of pieces, you know...you're really good at playing. And hey, when you become a chess...well, whatever the best chess player is-"  
  
"Grand master," Ron said dully.  
  
"Right. When you become a chess grand master, you can say, 'my friend Harry gave me this set, and I've never lost a game with it.' Huh?"  
  
Ron looked vaguely uncomfortable, but he nodded, awkwardly. "Uh...thanks. Here's your present." He dropped a package wrapped in brown paper at Harry's feet and retreated to his own bed. Harry tore open the paper, and suddenly grinned at Ron.  
  
"What's this?" Ron glanced away, blushing.  
  
"Tarot deck. 's old, but I thought...well, I thought it wouldn't hurt to give it to you. Maybe you can use it, 'cause it doesn't make any sense to me..." He stopped talking when Harry embraced him heartily, giving Ron a pat on the back.  
  
"Hey, thanks." He glanced down at the deck, smiling. "Look, this is really cool. My mum doesn't think Divinations is worth much, but it's always sounded like something I might want to try. Do you really think I can see into the future with this?" Ron shrugged, still looking embarrassed.  
  
"'Dunno."  
  
"Well, anyway, it's a great gift, Ron. Thanks." Ron nodded, slowly, looking a little flushed. Harry turned to his own gifts as Ron looked through the rest of his. Harry got a pair of dress robes from his mother, a book of very suspicious potions and spells 'for fun and profit' from his father, a book of protective enchantments from Peter ("He's paranoid; thinks everyone's out to get him," Harry explained), and...nothing from Sirius or Remus. He might understand the lack of gift from Remus, who was busy with teaching, and might want to squelch any notions of favoritism, but Sirius took every possible opportunity to give Harry gifts. And the lack of anything, even a card-  
  
"Something's wrong," Harry murmured. "Sirius didn't even send a note. I...you don't think he's in trouble, do you?" Ron glanced up, startled, and shook his head.  
  
"Look, your godfather's probably...distracted. He hasn't forgotten about you, and I'm sure that nothing drastic has happened. I know that you're worried, Harry, but things just happen to be different this year, and you have to get used to change."  
  
Harry nodded, but found himself unconvinced. Sirius never forgot about the important things in life; he told Harry that in his life, there were two things that came before everything else: his family, and his 'heart'. Harry knew he was considered part of Sirius' family, and that Mrs. Black, the horrid woman who sent Sirius Howlers, was not. Which meant that if Sirius was ignoring Harry, it was because something was wrong with his heart. Harry stared at the pile of wrapping paper, and suddenly noticed a package he'd missed the first time around.  
  
"I'd forgotten about this," he muttered, picking up Malfoy's gift. He pulled off the silklike paper cautiously, and stared at the small box. It was covered in felt, the sort of outside you'd find on a box containing an engagement ring, but much longer, and flatter.  
  
"Hey, Harry, who gave you jewelry?" Ron hurried to Harry's side, watching the box excitedly.  
  
"I doubt it's jewelry," Harry responded, snapping the box open, "because it's from Mal-oh Merlin!" He dropped the open box onto the floor, still reeling from what he'd seen. Ron picked up the box, and then glanced back up at his friend.  
  
"So, is there a note, or is this just an unprecedented gift from Mr. Malfoy?" Ron asked, a mischievous grin on his face. Harry dug through the now-empty wrapping paper, and managed to find a scrap that had writing on it.  
  
"Potter, My overtures on the train were sincere, if not of the purest intentions. After a week in Slytherin, I discovered exactly what you meant. I admit I like you a good deal more than I do my Slytherin classmates, and I feel that you at least find me not wholly detestable. Thus, I offer a gift in reconciliation. This is a necklace my father gave me, but you might benefit more from it. Wear it as much as possible, and you may someday be thankful for it. –Draco Malfoy." Ron, the moment Harry was done reading the letter, snatched up the box from the floor and made to hurl it out the window.  
  
"Hey! Ron, what are you-?"  
  
"I'm getting rid of this! If you'd even think about keeping a present from a *Slytherin*, Harry, you're an idiot! Slytherins can't be trusted!"  
  
"Slytherins do what they have to to get what they want, Ron. That doesn't mean you can't trust them. Maybe Draco really wants my friendship. Maybe he...well, I doubt we're going to be good chums, but maybe he thinks I make a better friend than enemy. I'm willing to trust him, Ron. You don't have to." Harry pried the box from Ron's hands and slipped the silver necklace over his head. Its shape resembled a shield, save for the gap in its bottom half. The center held a circular hole, and the bottom ended in two spiked points. Harry slipped the pendant under his robes, and then gave Ron a bright smile. "You see? Nothing happened. Now, how about breakfast?"  
  
Ron nodded, and headed for the door. But as Harry moved to follow, he was reminded of Sirius, who had sent no message to anyone save Remus, who sounded bitter and depressed.  
  
"Go ahead, Ron. I need to write a letter; I'll be just a minute." Harry sat on his bed with a new sheet of parchment as Ron left. This time, no block hindered his words; he wrote, saying what came to his mind.  
  
"Dear Sirius, I'm not sure I understand what's happened, but I know your heart is in trouble...pained. It's the only reason you'd be making your family worry so much. I'm not as old as you, and I can't understand why you'd drive away friends this close, but please, Sirius, talk to someone about it. I...wasn't feeling good earlier this year, and some of my friends made me talk to Professor McGonagall, and it helped. A lot.  
  
"Also...I get the feeling you're upset with Remus-" Harry paused, scratched out the word 'Remus' and replaced it with 'someone.' "-and I think it might help if you tried talking to this person and figure things out. I really don't want you to be unhappy, and even if it isn't my fault, I feel responsible for making you feel better. Love, Your Godson, Harry Potter." Harry looked at the letter, satisfied. It was *not* perfect, but he hoped Sirius would take the hint. He was worried about him, and wanted his godfather to be happy. And that obviously wasn't happening. He rolled up the letter and headed for the Owlery, ready to send it to Sirius' house.  
  
*  
  
Christmas vacation was largely uneventful after that, with Harry spending a lot of time being reminded just how good Ron was at chess, even with a new set that argued continuously with both of them.  
  
And once Christmas was over, Hermione returned, armed with dozens of pages of review sheets and studying schedules, 'tailored to fit Harry and Ron's habits and needs'. Upon their protestations, she retorted that they had to pass 70% of their exams in order to pass to the next year of school. So against his will, Harry was dragged into study sessions that took up every free moment of time that *didn't* involve Quidditch. And so by March, he was exhausted. But just before Easter holidays, something happened that reminded Harry not only what was happening within the school, but just how much he had somehow become involved in it.  
  
It was a horrible Potions class just before vacation, and Harry and Draco were trying to make a Pinkeye Potion, which, in addition to relaxing the taker, turned his eyes a bright, vibrant red. Harry believed he may have used too much mandrake root, but Draco later agreed the mistake may have been in adding the powdered vervain before the sage. In any case, the disastrous result left twelve students drenched in red dye and Snape's dungeon painted a vivid hot pink. While the color would wear off in a week, Snape had angrily given both boys a detention, due to the fact that he could not prove that Harry alone was at fault.  
  
So that very night, both Harry and Draco headed down to the Forbidden Forest for a detention with Hagrid, the groundskeeper. Upon reaching the hut, the boys found the huge man standing outside with a large dog by his side.  
  
"Ah, 'ello, boys. Glad t'see yer. Shame about yer detention, but it's not so bad. Come along, now. We're headed into the Forest."  
  
"What? Into the Forbidden-?" Draco folded his arms. "No. Absolutely not. There's terrible things in there. Giant snakes! Spiders! Werewolves!"  
  
"Ah, there's only ever been one werewolf in this forest, and it's not even a full moon now," Hagrid retorted. "The only thing I'd worry about is the centaurs; they're not too friendly t'outsiders. Come along, now." They followed Hagrid through dark pathways into the forest, both boys trying to keep the large dog, who went by the name Fang, behind them, so they were protected at both sides. Draco moved quickly through a stage of terror and settled on muttering a mantra of, "This is *your* fault, Potter." Too soon, however, the path parted into a small clearing with two paths branching from it.  
  
"A'right; we gotta split up here. Malfoy, why don't you come with me, Harry, you go with Fang here." He suddenly paused. "Oh, forgot to tell you what we're doing 'ere. Now, look here. There's a creature in the Forest's been killing unicorns. You look for something looks like a silver puddle, and follow it."  
  
"What, are you telling us we're going to catch something that can kill a unicorn?" Malfoy demanded, nearly growling at Hagrid. "Because that's the most bloody stupid and dangerous thing-"  
  
"No, we're not finding it. There's a wounded unicorn in here, and we're...trying t'put it out o'its misery. Jus'-Jus' send up green sparks when you find 'im, and I'll come." Hagrid took Draco and led him down the right pathway, and Harry, after a moment's hesitation, took the left path, leading Fang behind him. The path was twisted, dark, and narrow, and Harry felt his chest tightening with every step. He tightened his grip on his wand, feeling his anxiety rising. He stumbled over a tree root, shouting in surprise. Fang barked, sniffing at a pool of silvery liquid, and Harry froze. This was-  
  
"Ow!" He dropped his wand, feeling it suddenly rise in temperature. It had to mean something important, that it kept burning him like that. He bent down to pick up his wand, but froze when he heard the sound. A choking, wheezing breath echoed in the forest, and up ahead, Harry could see a form lurking in the darkness. The robed figure was bent over a silvery-white form, but suddenly, it stood up, turning to face Harry. He grabbed his wand, terrified, and yet knowing that there was no hope. The figure slid closer, and Harry could sense fangs, glittering teeth, a low growl, and a strange, wiry strength under the robe, all of it mixing to form a horrifying figure. The creature-thing moved closer to Harry, rasping loudly. His right hand burning, Harry lifted it high in a swift moment and sent up a shower of red sparks, hoping that someone-  
  
The sound of galloping broke apart the terrible almost-silence, forcing the strange creature to turn and glide away, faster than any mortal could move. It leapt over a tree root and was gone.  
  
"Hello, Harry Potter." Harry whirled, surprised to see a man standing behind him. He was a little embarrassed to see the man was naked from his waist up. The man stepped forward, and his state of undress no longer seemed confusing (although he couldn't really bring up a reason to object to it), given that the lower half of his body was that of a horse.  
  
"Ah...hello." The centaur trotted forward, and peered at Harry.  
  
"You are lost, are you not?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"This is a dangerous place to be lost, Harry. Between Aragog and the other beasts that inhabit this place...there is something worse. You met it here, tonight, Harry Potter. You sought it out."  
  
"What do you mean?" Harry demanded. The centaur didn't speak for a minute, but when he did...  
  
"It was feeding on unicorn blood, Harry. It is a well-known fact that a man hovering on the very edge of death can be returned to life with a draught of unicorn blood. It is said that the blood drives away Death himself, makes him unwilling to touch you. I imagine, though, that this creature has been desperate for a very long time, that before this, it has tried very long to avoid death, because unicorn blood is the last resort of those who would seek healing." The centaur bent over the dead unicorn, frowning. "Why is this?"  
  
"Are you asking me?" Harry demanded. "I...the unicorn didn't do anything to him-it."  
  
"Indeed. A unicorn will not harm another creature, even if attacked. It will run, it will try to dissuade you from your intentions, but it will not fight to protect its own life. And so to kill a unicorn...is to bring a curse upon you. Death will haunt your steps, waiting for the moment the blood can no longer protect you. Fate will turn her back upon you, and you will live a cursed life, for killing something so pure, so innocent, that it would not use its own magic to save itself." The centaur paused in his lecture, and gazed down upon the young human. "Only the most desperate man would drink this blood, Harry. Who do you think is desperate enough to risk his soul, just for a chance at eternal life?"  
  
Before Harry could answer, Hagrid burst through the trees, carrying Draco under his arm, and a lantern in the other.  
  
"I saw yer sparks, Harry, and came as fast as I could-Hello, Firenze."  
  
"Hello, Hagrid. I trust you can see Mr. Potter safely out of this forest. Good evening."  
  
"Right. Come along, Harry. I think we've had enough excitement for now, wouldn't you say?" Hagrid grabbed Fang's leash, and led Harry from the forest, still carrying a nervous Draco Malfoy. Harry followed silently, mulling Firenze's words over in his mind. He returned to his dorm around midnight, still completely baffled as to what the centaur had meant, and what he was supposed to understand.  
  
However, the very next day, he got the last shock that almost pushed him over the edge. At the breakfast table, his parents' owl suddenly swooped over his head and dropped a very small note. He took the paper and unrolled it, expecting some small note about the upcoming exams, or Easter holidays, or-  
  
The note wasn't that simple. Nor was it good news.  
  
'Harry, Sirius has vanished and he's headed for Hogwarts. He's not the man you remember, and our only concern is getting home. Whatever you do, *don't confront him*, because due to the state he's in, we don't know if he'd remember you-or think twice about cursing you. -James' 


	5. Surprises for Everyone

5/?  
  
*  
  
Harry dropped the letter, giving Ron a terrified glance. The redhead stared at his friend, concern dancing in his brown eyes.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"It's Sirius," Harry replied, feeling dazed. "My dad said he's gone mad and is...coming here."  
  
"What?" Ron grabbed Harry's arm, looking panicked. "Harry, what do you mean, he's gone mad? And why the devil would he come here?"  
  
"How the hell should *I* know?" Harry retorted, pushing himself up from his seat. "He's gone mad; what he does doesn't have to make sense. Come on, I have to tell Dumbledore-"  
  
"*Professor* Dumbledore already knows about this, Potter." Snape drifted from behind Harry, smirking darkly. "You have no need, in fact, to worry at all about this. Potter, if I hear that you have tried to do *anything* in relation to this, I will be forced to give you another detention. I don't approve of *heroics*, Potter, especially when other people have the situation firmly under control. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Crystal," Harry replied, feeling very out of his depth. Snape gave him another smirk, and then wandered toward the staff table. As he passed Remus, Snape trailed a light finger along the man's back. Remus shivered, but kept his gaze aimed down at his plate. And Harry returned to his own food, feeling that everything was wrong and completely out of control.  
  
*  
  
However, Harry found his own assumptions to be very wrong. Easter passed without a sign of Sirius, and the only noticeable thing that happened after that was that Remus became more and more irritable, especially as spring became more and more apparent, and on the last day before exams, he actually snapped at a student. Neville had asked a simple question about the goblin rebellions, to help review for their History of Magic exam, and Remus, in an unprecedented outburst, screamed at the boy.  
  
"And why do you expect me to give you all of the answers? Haven't you had *weeks* to study? If you don't know it now, Neville, you're never going to know it, and you might as well *fail* your final! In fact, why don't the lot of you leave? I can't teach you anything now; just go!"  
  
In contrast, Professor Snape had been growing steadily more cheerful until the same day, he actually complimented Harry's Reflection Potion.  
  
"Look here, everybody. As you can see, Harry's potion is showing a reflection of his thoughts, in this case, his friends Weasley, Granger, and Malfoy. It's a perfect reflection, indicating the potion is exceptionally well-made. Good job. I think you'll do well on your exam."  
  
"I don't get it!" Harry said to Draco as they left Potions. "He *hates* me! I can't understand why he'd be so happy, anyway! I mean, what's he got to be happy about?"  
  
"Either he's come into a lot of money, or he's getting laid," Draco retorted, glaring at Harry. "Either way, it's nothing I want to know about. Look, Harry, we're all under a lot of stress, and I know about how you broke down *early* in the year. How about we get through our exams, and then you can worry about Professor Snape? Look, there's Granger. I'll leave you be." He stalked off, muttering about insane Gryffindors, leaving Harry to deal with Hermione, who, in the final weeks before exams, had reached a fevered pitch of studying, re-checking facts, and insisting that anyone who appeared free help her with studying. It was a nightmare, and Harry wavered between being relieved that it was almost over, and being panicked at the continual new heights Hermione's insanity reached.  
  
As he went to bed, he worried that maybe Draco was right: he *was* losing his mind again. In a moment of weakness, he opened 'The Book of Ages', and found a pair of quotes facing him.  
  
"There is a time when you must stop weighing your concerns against the benefits and just make a choice."  
  
"Trust your heart. It is the only thing that will never lead you wrong."  
  
*  
  
So Harry muddled through his exams, his worries about Remus, Sirius, Snape, and the Philosopher's Stone all working to confuse him. History of Magic, oddly, was the worst. With Remus pacing the room like a caged wolf, occasionally growling at students or kicking his desk, Harry couldn't concentrate on what had happened the day before, much less a century ago. After his last exam, Astronomy at midnight, Harry found his mind, and spirit, feeling empty, drained. He spent that day with Neville and Ron on the edge of the great lake outside the castle, reclining on the grass, watching the clouds. Well, Harry and Ron were. Neville was raving about his latest plant, a little vine that had a habit of bursting into flames at the slightest provocation.  
  
It was when Hermione appeared, still carrying half a dozen books and a notebook, and asked Neville a question, that everything snapped into place.  
  
"What's gotten you in such a good mood, Neville?" Harry didn't hear Neville's response; instead, he heard a prissy voice belonging to a certain blond answering in his mind:  
  
'Either he's come into a lot of money, or he's getting laid.'  
  
"Snape!"  
  
"Harry? What the hell is wrong-"  
  
"I finally got it! Snape's been planning to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and he's been forcing Remus to help him get at it!" Harry was sitting up, waving his arms frantically. "No! Listen! Professor McGonagall *told* me the Philosopher's Stone is in the school, so I know I'm right about that. But she told me each of the teachers has contributed to the protection of the Stone, and so anyone who wanted to steal it would need to get information off of each one of the teachers...no one would trust Snape, so he's been forcing Remus to help him get the secrets. Look, I know I'm not crazy-Snape wants something out of the Stone, and I think he's convinced Remus that the Stone can offer *him* something, too. Come *on*, we need to find Dumbledore!"  
  
The three other students followed Harry, Hermione especially looking doubtful. Harry led them through the halls of the castle, feeling panic rising. From Professor Flitwick, he knew that only a person who could make the Stone should be allowed to use it; if anyone got their hands on the Stone...  
  
"Mr. Potter, what are you looking for?" Harry froze at the sound of McGonagall's voice. The teacher, standing as tall as possible for a woman of her stature, stood before Harry, arms folded. "You are rushing down the halls without regard for your fellow students, and I must insist that you slow down and explain-"  
  
"Dumbledore," Harry gasped out, panting. "We're looking for Professor Dumbledore."  
  
"Well, I'm sorry, Harry, but he's gone off-grounds with several other professors because of some rumors of a dangerous beast in the Forbidden Forest. Can I help you instead?" Harry looked into the stern face, and knew that she wouldn't listen, that she wouldn't understand or believe the urgency.  
  
"I...never mind," he muttered, backing away. "I was just...going outside."  
  
"I see. Well, enjoy your day. We will be handing back grades soon, but until then, you can rest all you want. Go along. Don't worry; I won't let things get out of control before Albus returns."  
  
Harry nodded, mute, and let his friends lead him back towards the lake outside. Hagrid was sitting out there, throwing dead rats to the giant squid in the lake. He nodded as Harry approached.  
  
"Hello, Harry, hope yer doin' well. I hear exams are over, you'll be goin' home again soon."  
  
"Yeah," Harry responded, sitting next to Hagrid. Hermione sat on the other side of the huge man, and Ron and Neville held back, whispering to each other.  
  
"Hagrid, you know a lot about wild animals, don't you?" Hermione asked. "I mean, you deal with all of the animals and other various beings around Hogwarts, right?"  
  
"Certainly; yeah, I know all abou' those types o'things. Why?"  
  
"Because I've been reading about *canis tricapita*...Cerberi, you know. And all of the texts talk about how fierce and untamable they are. But it's a given fact that some have been tamed, so the question is: how do you tame a Cerberus?"  
  
"Ah, that's a good question. It varies from beast to beast, but there's always a trick. Like fer example, there's one I met, mean as they come, but you play'im a little tune, and down he-actually, forget I said that." Hagrid stood up, looking harried at his audience.  
  
"Why, Hagrid? What-"  
  
"That thing in the corridor," Harry said eagerly. "That's how you-"  
  
"SHUSH! Keep it down, Harry! I don'know how you know about Fluffy-"  
  
"Fluffy? FLUFFY? It's a bloodthirsty beast!" Harry snapped.  
  
"Yeah, well, no one know how ter get past Fluffy 'cept me an'-"  
  
"Dumbledore, right?" Harry asked. Hagrid snorted.  
  
"'Course not. He made sure no one knew how to get at...something, not even himself. No. The only other one who knows Fluffy's secret is Professor Lupin."  
  
"Lupin?" Harry's blood chilled. "But he..." Hermione gave Harry a sharp look. 'Later,' she mouthed.  
  
*  
  
In the common room later that night, right after dinner, the four were gathered in a small circle. Although Harry was the most adamant, the others were beginning to see his way.  
  
"I don't understand why," Hermione said, shaking her head, "But Professor Lupin's been acting weird, and...it makes sense, what's going on. But what can we do about it?"  
  
"Go after him," Harry responded. "Get the Stone before he can. If he and Snape are working together, they probably have all of the secrets, and that means we have to act fast."  
  
"What do you mean by that?" Ron asked. "I mean, it's not like we can sneak out of here tonight and sneak into the third floor corridor!"  
  
"Why not?" Harry demanded. "As long as no one sees us, we'll be fine." Hermione looked ready to open her mouth to object, but Harry cut her off. "And no one *will* see us. Look." He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak from beneath his robes, and grinned at them. "We're going in and we're going tonight. Are you with me?"  
  
"No," Hermione responded. "I can't sit by silently and let you three go off on a suicidal mission without help. I'll run interference from here, so no one suspects." She sighed. "If you go now, I'm sure no one will suspect where you've gone." Suddenly, Hermione let out a muffled sob. "And I hope you guys can take care of yourselves...it's going to be really dangerous! And-look, take this!" She shoved a book at Harry. He glanced down at it incredulously.  
  
"Hermione, do you expect me to take a break tracking down a wizard who may be armed and dangerous to look up *notes*?!"  
  
"It may come in handy!" Hermione retorted. "Look, just...discretely. Go." She tossed the cloak over Harry, and then nodded at Ron and Neville. "Good luck, you guys. You'll need it."  
  
*  
  
Harry had only used the cloak once, and that was in the middle of the night. Trying to walk through the halls of the school in the evening when school life was still in full swing was much harder, especially because you had to make sure no one saw or touched you. It was a nerve-wracking trip, with every step haunted by the chance of discovery. But finally, they reached the door, slipped inside, and listened to the door lock behind them. Harry pulled off the cloak, and then turned to Fluffy.  
  
The dog was fast asleep, a white harp on the floor next to it. The dog's paws were resting on a wooden trap door, which was still ajar.  
  
"We're too late!" Ron whispered, his hand clenching around the simple wooden flute Harry had been able to dig up for him. "Snape's already-"  
  
"Just play!" Harry snapped.  
  
"Right." Ron lifted the flute to his lips, and began to play. The melody was not exactly tuneful, or even pretty, but it did. The dog shifted slightly, murmuring as it continued to sleep. Its paws were no longer covering the trapdoor, so Neville stepped forward, frowning, and then glanced at Harry.  
  
"I think you should go first."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"This was your idea!"  
  
"My idea? We have to do this to save the world!"  
  
"Oh, honestly; *I'll* go first!"  
  
"NO!" Neville and Harry dove for the trapdoor just as Ron disappeared down it. Neville leapt down first, and Harry barely after him. He could've sworn he heard the sound of teeth clamping together just behind his feet, but it could've been his imagination. But with that jump, his choice was made.  
  
*  
  
Harry fell onto something cool and soft; the surface underneath him twined and twisted comfortably. He heard a noise at his right, and turned, trying to see in the perfect darkness.  
  
"Ron?"  
  
"Hey, Harry. Soft landing, huh?"  
  
"You're an idiot, Ron. Your playing was keeping the dog asleep. At least we did land on this plant. Huh. Lucky."  
  
"Lucky?" Neville's voice, high-pitched and squeaking, came a good distance ahead of Harry. "Look at what you're standing in!"  
  
"What?" Harry reached to pull out his wand, but something restrained his hand.  
  
"Ron, get some light!" he snapped, fighting against some binding; Ron grunted in agreement, and made a movement to the side. But he shouted a moment later, angrily.  
  
"I can't, Harry! My arm-"  
  
"Oh, the hell with it!' Neville growled. "Incendo!" There was a burst of flames that shot from the end of Neville's wand, scorching the moving vines Harry and Ron were seated on. The flames licked at the edges, causing the vines to pull away from the two boys, recoiling from the light and the heat. In that moment's respite, both ran from the plant. Once they were standing by Neville's side, Harry managed to gasp out,  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Devil's Snare!" Neville said. "I should've thought you would have been able to deal with it..."  
  
"Sure, we can deal with your potted plant, Neville," Ron replied, panting, "but this is a thousand times bigger!"  
  
"Well what do you expect?" Neville asked. "This plant is guarding the Philosopher's Stone. Of course it's dangerous."  
  
"Well, come on," Harry muttered. "We're wasting time." He led them through a high archway into another room. There was a pool of light around the entrance, and a pile of six torches. On the ground, a message was inscribed. Harry glanced at the message, fidgeting for a moment with his glasses. "It's instructions. 'Here you face a challenge of strategy and planning. Six lights you have, and six only. A single path will lead you to safety-to stray is to bring death. There are eight torch-holders along the correct path, and only seven along each of the incorrect ones. Beware the depths, and choose your path wisely.'" He turned his gaze into the darkness of the room, examining it for a long time. Then he turned to his friends.  
  
"So, any ideas?" Ron pulled out his wand, muttering, but nothing happened. Neville, however, began to fumble through his robes. After a minute or two, Harry tapped the blond boy's shoulder. "Neville, you all right?"  
  
"Yes," Neville answered. "I'm looking for something-ah!" He pulled a small paper packet from his robes and held it up to Harry's face. "Here. Powdered darkweed root. You remember the bulb I got? Well, the powdered root has the unique ability of allowing the user to see in the dark. Come on, we don't have all day." Neville poured out some of the powder, and blew it in Harry's face.  
  
"A-CHOO!" Harry's sneeze was forceful, on account of the teaspoon of powder that found its way into his nose; but Neville, shocked by the sudden action, dropped the packet. It bounced out of the circle of now-blinding light and off of the edge of what Harry now saw as a platform over a very deep pit. Neville, however, leapt after the packet, stretching his hands out over the abyss to grab it from what he must have imagined was stone. "No, Neville!" Harry grabbed the boy around the waist, dragging him back. "That's the edge of a cliff, and that's the danger. If we don't make the right steps, we're doomed."  
  
"Well, that's great!" Ron yelled. His fists, clenched at his sides, were white and very tense. "Neville and I can't see; how are we supposed to do this?"  
  
"Well...just hold onto me, and I'll lead the way," Harry explained. "I...I can see the pathway. This won't be hard." And he could see the perilous stone pathway splitting and twisting over the deep pit. Rather than wondering how Dumbledore could fit a pit in a third-floor room, Harry focused, planning a path across to the door on the other side of the room. "Come on." He grabbed Ron's hand; Ron in turn grabbed Neville's. Harry, as an afterthought, grabbed the torches, and then started on his chosen path.  
  
*  
  
It was very quiet; Ron and Neville had both fallen silent the moment they had entered the darkness, and Harry found it nearly impossible to work up the energy to speak. He passed a split in the path, and checked to make sure he was on the right path. But he suddenly couldn't see the exit, or the way he'd planned out before. He tried to open his mouth to shout a warning, but he couldn't. Instead, his feet kept moving along the stone walkway. He fumbled with the torches, panicking as he continued to walk. He jammed the torch into a holder, the second he had seen in the darkness. The torch flared to life, and there was another circle of light around them.  
  
"Are we there yet?" Ron asked nervously.  
  
"No," Harry whispered. "I couldn't stop moving-had to find the exit again, reorient. This place is playing with my mind."  
  
"There must be a Disorientation Charm on this place," Neville said, awed. "The torches must negate the spell over short distances. We need them to get across, because otherwise, we could get lost...and make a wrong turn."  
  
"Right," Harry answered. "But there's only six. We have to conserve." He glanced ahead, confirming that he was leading them in the right direction, and then tightened a grip on Ron's hand. "And we need to go." He led them again into the darkness, pacing his steps, watching his direction, trying to make sure that he was going exactly where he wanted to. It seemed like he'd been walking for hours when he suddenly lost his way. Fumbling, he reached out and shoved a torch into a holder close at hand. But when he did, his heart fell when it illuminated to reveal another torch barely ten feet behind him.  
  
"No...it-I can't concentrate in here." He turned to Ron and Neville. "If I can't get us this far without getting lost, how will we ever get out of here?"  
  
"Let me lead," Neville answered.  
  
"What? You can't see!"  
  
"Which is the point!" Neville responded. "I knew one method off of the top of my head to see in the dark, and a fully-trained witch or wizard would know at least three others. Being able to see in the dark is a liability here, because the Disorientation Charm curses your eyes! In fact, I bet I can find my way better not being able to see than you can with the powder in your eyes." Neville's blue eyes were glittering with hope and...achievement. The way he looked, Harry could see Neville was positive he knew what he was doing. And if Neville was sure-  
  
"All right, Neville. You better be able to do this. We're putting our faith in you, right, Ron?"  
  
"We went down a hole, *past* a three-headed dog named Fluffy. We landed in Devil's Snare and almost got killed. Now we're letting a kid lead us through a dark room over a deep pit...with his *eyes closed*! Fine."  
  
Harry stepped back, and let Neville take the lead. He felt Ron's hand tightening around his as Harry closed his eyes. He might as well get into the spirit of things; besides, it made Harry more comfortable not to see where he was going.  
  
"Okay, you two. I'm going to keep talking, because silence seems to make it easier to get disoriented. Let's keep walking forward, one step in front of another. I really hope you had the right path, Harry, because I really don't want to die. You know, my Gran used to tell me riddles involving things like this. One of my favorites always involved statements that could be false, and you'd try to figure out which ones had to be true. Gran was really good at them, but-ow!" Harry snapped his eyes open, and felt Ron step closer to him. Neville rubbed his nose as he stood in front of a-empty block of air. "Come on, give me a torch, Harry. I think we've got the door." Harry handed one of the torches forward, and Neville shoved it into a holder; the light that appeared illuminated a large wooden door.  
  
"Finally!" Ron exclaimed, and stepped through. Harry gave Neville a thumbs-up, and then followed him.  
  
*  
  
"Bloody hell..."Ron murmured, head angled upwards. "It's a giant chess set."  
  
"McGonagall," Harry stated, glancing at the board. "We have to play, don't we?"  
  
"Yeah," Ron muttered. "But I think *we* need to be pieces. Harry, replace the queen. Neville, take the queen's rook."  
  
"And what about you?" Harry asked, as the queen and rook pieces, each a human's height, stepped off of the giant chess board. Ron pulled his robes close around him and walked deliberately towards the board.  
  
"I...am going to be a knight," he responded. But as Ron took his own place, a thought struck Harry.  
  
"Ron, these pieces are animated. Does that mean we're playing...wizard chess?"  
  
"Uh oh." Neville was shaking in his square at the notion, and Harry would admit that the prospect made him nauseous. In wizard chess, the captured pieces were attacked brutally (somewhat reminiscent of the more violent video games his cousin played on the very rare occasions they visited), and although the pieces had magic to repair them after the game, people had no such protection. "I'll try to find out," Ron answered, and directed one of the pawns out into the board, where their "opponent's" pawn was already waiting. And it was wizard chess, as the opposing pawn skewered Ron's with a sickening crunch, tossing the impaled piece aside like a rag doll.  
  
"Oh, god..." Neville whimpered, eyes fixated on the shattered, once-mobile statue discarded by the side of the board. Harry could only dredge up one thought.  
  
"Everyone says you're second only to McGonagall at this school, Ron. I sure to god hope that they've been underestimating your skills."  
  
*  
  
It was a tense game. They all knew what was at stake, and it was harder to concentrate knowing what could happen to the individual pieces. Harry had to shout at Ron to remind him several times that losing his queen or queen's rook was *not* an option. As a knight, Ron did an admirable job, criss-crossing the board, taking pieces left and right. Harry could see Ron planning ahead three, four, five turns, and even so, the game was evenly matched.  
  
They had been at it for a half an hour, Harry decided, when Ron's pace slackened. And finally, it was his move, and Ron stood still, staring at the board, eyes flicking across it desperately.  
  
"Ron, what's wrong?"  
  
"I can win," Ron answered; he sounded confident, but his voice was shaking. "I can win this game."  
  
"So? Do it!"  
  
"I have to make a sacrifice," Ron replied. "You see, Harry, if McGonagall's bishop moves, you can get into check-mate by moving three spaces forward."  
  
"But how can you get it to move?" Harry asked. The long pause before Ron answered spoke of something very unpleasant, and Ron's words only confirmed the suspicions.  
  
"I can check the king." Before Harry could argue, or respond, Ron moved himself-in a position to check the king, and directly in the way of the opposing bishop. The statue then glided forward, raising up its heavy mace.  
  
"RON!"  
  
"Stay there, Neville!" Harry snapped, his eyes fixated on his friend; Ron was staring blankly at the bishop, his arms held loosely at his sides. The bishop swung. The mace made a terrible crunching noise as it connected with Ron's side, throwing the boy off the edge of the board. Harry moved quickly after that. He leapt forward the three spaces, and pointed at the king. "Check-mate." There was a moment of tense silence, and then the king, and all of the other opposing pieces, shattered. Harry glanced towards where Ron had fallen, but then Neville was by his side.  
  
"We have to keep going, Harry. We can come back for him." Harry nodded, numbly, and let Neville lead him into the next room.  
  
*  
  
The moment they stepped through the door, it slammed behind them. Harry had a brief glimpse of the room's outer wall-there were two other doors, identical and spaced equally around the circular wall. And then the wall began to spin. It whirled about far too fast to track with the eye, slowing after a few seconds. And then Harry and Neville were stuck in the room, with three equally-spaced, identical doors leading out. Neville stepped into the middle of the room, and suddenly, the doors flashed, once. One was suddenly an emerald green. Another was pitch black. And the third remained a dull brown.  
  
"Harry!" Neville was kneeling over the center stone in the room. "It's another set of instructions.  
  
"Three doors, all the same,  
  
To leave this room, you must play a game.  
  
Two lead to safety, one to your doom,  
  
And only one to the final room.  
  
Look upon these statements three,  
  
And then you must choose wisely.  
  
Remember, though, that I can lie to you,  
  
And that one of these statements is not true.  
  
Or perhaps two of these statements lie,  
  
To make it easy on your mind,  
  
One is false and one is true,  
  
The third door is up to you;  
  
Choose a door and step through,  
  
And discover if your choice is true."  
  
Neville glanced up, and then pointed at the doors. "They each have something written on them." He walked to the green door.  
  
"This door leads forward only if this sign is false." Then to the black door.  
  
"The green door is unsafe." And finally, he read the brown door aloud.  
  
"The door to go backward is false."  
  
"Logic?" Harry approached one of the doors. "How can we do-"  
  
"Shush!" Neville snapped, shifting his gaze between the doors. "I think...no, I know. The black door is the way to the Stone. But I don't know which way is the way back."  
  
"Well? How do we figure out?" Harry demanded.  
  
"One of us tries to go back," Neville answered. "If it's the right door, that one gets Ron and tries to get ahold of Dumbledore." He didn't continue, because they both knew the other option. If only one of them survived the test, that one would have to remember to take the other door-if he survived.  
  
"Well, who will go back?" Neville stepped towards the black door, gesturing to the green one.  
  
"I'll go on...you can get Dumbledore." But the boy's voice was shaking, and Harry knew he was more terrified of facing down a full-grown wizard than the prospect of death.  
  
"Neville, I'll go." Neville's sigh of relief was louder than he probably intended, but Harry grinned at him. "You're not a fighter. Make sure Ron's okay, and then find Dumbledore, McGonagall...anyone."  
  
"Right." Neville turned to the two doors behind them, and then paused. "Wait. Harry...good luck." After a moment, he began to rummage through his robes, pulling out a handful of freshly-cut leaves, which he handed to Harry. "Take these. They protect against curses. And also...well, remember us when you're in there. Your friends, Harry, are your strength. We'll be with you in spirit. Remember that." Neville turned and stepped through the brown door. Harry waited a moment, but having no indication if Neville had survived, he had to go forward. So he opened the black door, and stepped through.  
  
*  
  
The room Harry entered next was totally black; as he stood there in the darkness, a voice erupted from all corners of the chamber.  
  
"Before you we present a test,  
  
The final and harder than the rest;  
  
A native of darkness, and of enclosed spaces,  
  
This monster will take you to terrible places;  
  
To pass this test, you must pay a toll,  
  
To conquer the darkness in your soul..."  
  
Harry barely had time to recognize the voice as Remus' when a sharp crack cut through the air, and a pool of light formed around Harry. Before him stood a tall, athletic man, whose black hair was pulled into a neck-length ponytail.  
  
"Sirius? I'm so glad to see you! Someone's trying to steal-"  
  
"I could care less, Harry. Look, I didn't even want to come here, but James forced me to." The voice was flat, cold, and it physically hurt to hear Sirius using that tone towards him.  
  
"Why are you here-?"  
  
"I came to tell you, Harry, that I'm...retiring, I think works the best. You see, I don't want to be your godfather, especially because, well, I'm getting married." The last part was said in a pleasant, dreamy tone, and the horror that began to settle in Harry's stomach made it hard to concentrate as Sirius continued. "Her name's Maria-"  
  
"STOP IT!" Harry screamed, clenching his fists and lunging towards Sirius. "YOU'RE LYING!" Sirius paused, looking startled.  
  
"What? I'm not lying; I'm marrying this nice woman and forgetting about you forever-"  
  
"You're not Sirius," Harry growled. "He loves me and can't just make a-a *decision* like that. He's part of my *family*, and you can't get rid of that!" Sirius looked entirely flustered, trapped, and absolutely shocked.  
  
"But-"  
  
"So get out of my way and let me go past!" Harry snapped. "Because I don't care who you are, but if you keep doing this, I'll curse you into NEXT WEEK!" Not-Sirius stepped aside, appearing very cowed (an expression very confusing to see on Sirius, of all people), and Harry stalked past him. It. Whatever. He grabbed the handle of the door ahead of him, swung it open, and stormed through. There was a long moment, and then a very short, shriveled gray creature that really resembled a very old man, stepped into the light. A man in a hooded robe stepped into the light, glancing down at him. He tapped the ground meaningfully with a very long staff that extended upward into the darkness.  
  
I'M IMPRESSED. NO ONE'S EVER DONE THAT BEFORE.  
  
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't let this get out. I have...a reputation to maintain, you know."  
  
OF COURSE. BUT THEN AGAIN, WHO WOULD *I* TELL? The man nodded, passed through the circle of light, and followed Harry through the door. The only thing worth mentioning about that is that the door had closed after Harry.  
  
*  
  
Harry stumbled into a very large, well-lit room, blinking reflexively to clear his eyes. The first thing he saw was the Mirror of Erised, the glass facing slightly away from him, but the carved message almost glowing in the warm light. Dumbledore obviously had been telling the truth when he'd said it was a bad idea to look for the Mirror again. But the next thing Harry noticed was the man standing in front of the mirror, frowning at it in obvious concentration. He was relieved to see it was not Remus, shocked to see it wasn't even Snape, but the real surprise came from who it *was*.  
  
"Professor Quirrel?"  
  
Professor Quirrel turned, smiling thinly at Harry. He folded his hands, still smiling. "Yes, Mr. Potter. It's me. I've been trying to get the Philosopher's Stone...and been having a terrible time with it! This stupid mirror-"  
  
"But-but I thought that Snape was trying to get it with Professor Lupin's help!" Harry said, feeling very confused.  
  
"Snape?" Quirrel chuckled dryly as he turned back to the mirror. "Snape doesn't have the balls to try and snatch the Stone from under *Dumbledore's* nose. No, Albus gave him a second chance he didn't deserve, and he doesn't dare risk that. And Lupin? What would make you think Lupin would try and steal the Stone?"  
  
"Because he's really sick," Harry explained. "And it can make him better. And...on Halloween, he let the troll into the school and tried to get past Fluffy. He didn't, and I saw all of the scratches the next day!"  
  
Quirrel's chuckle became a full-fledged laugh as he leaned against the mirror for support. "Remus? Oh god, you don't *know*? You've known him for eleven years, and you don't *know?* Harry, I assure you, there is no way Remus could have released a troll into the school on Halloween. Nor could he be here to steal the Stone tonight."  
  
"And why not?" Harry growled at the wizard, feeling patronized and ignorant. "It makes perfect sense-"  
  
"Except that no werewolf could manage such a calculated act of malice during the full moon. I find it impossible that you did not know this after eleven years, Harry, but very amusing. Now how does this work? I can see myself with the Stone, can see myself bringing it to my master-"  
  
"Master?" Harry asked, a chill creeping up his spine. He'd never considered the fact that the thief was working for someone else.  
  
"Of course! The power I needed to pass those wards, to break into Gringott's, I never had it! I know that two years ago, I could never have done this. After all, I'm just p-p-p-p-poor s-s-s-stuttering P-p-p-professor Quirrel!"  
  
"But who are you working for?" Harry demanded. Maybe if he knew who Quirrel's master was, he could find a way to stop him. But Quirrel seemed to be reading Harry's mind, as he laughed, a cold, high-pitched sound. "Professor? What's going on?"  
  
"Who, Harry, would be so desperate to seek to steal the Stone from Gringott's? From Albus Dumbledore himself? Who would desire life so much that he would strike down a unicorn and take upon himself the burden of a cursed life? You're a bright student, Harry. So tell me who it is who would risk so much for a *chance*, a *possibility* of acquiring this prize? THINK!"  
  
"I don't...No-"  
  
"To live a cursed life is better than a half-life, Harry. He took precautions to protect against his death, and even the curse that killed hundreds could not destroy him. And with the Stone, I will allow my master to return for GOOD!"  
  
"You're not-"  
  
"Yes, I am. Harry, my master is none other than Lord Voldemort!" Quirrel grabbed at a loose end of his turban and pulled it sharply; with the one tug, the turban fell from Quirrel's head, and Harry could see the terrible sight before him. On the back of Quirrel's head, there was no hair, but a face. A thin, reptilian face glared at Harry, with red eyes glowering at him.  
  
"Hello, Harry Potter. Eleven years ago...I thought to destroy you, but it proved harder than I thought to kill...children." Voldemort smiled, and Quirrel walked backward toward Harry. "Perhaps I can finally...kill at least one of the children...I sought to destroy...so long ago. But first...you will help *me*...get the Philosopher's Stone. Dumbledore told no one...the secret of the final...chamber, but I know you have seen...the Mirror before. So, tell me...where is...the Stone?" Harry shook his head, forcing his lips closed. Voldemort snorted. "Quirrel! Bring him...to the...Mirror."  
  
"As you wish, Master." Quirrel whirled around and grabbed Harry's arm. "Come along, Potter." He dragged Harry forward, until the two of them stopped in front of the Mirror of Erised. "Tell me what you see!"  
  
Harry turned his gaze onto the mirror, expecting to see what he had before. But instead, he saw Ron in a hospital bed, talking quietly with Harry. Hope surged in his chest. Did this mean Ron was all right? If Ron was all right-  
  
STOP WORRYING ABOUT YOUR FRIEND AND START WORRYING ABOUT WHAT IS IMPORTANT.  
  
The voice spoke by Harry's ear, and bypassed actual thought. He banished his thoughts about Ron, telling himself that his friend was fine. Neville had found the right door, had gotten Ron to the Infirmary, and now...Harry had to find the Stone. Harry's reflection shifted; instead Harry saw himself, standing in front of him. The reflection grinned at Harry, and lifted its hand. 'Look,' it mouthed, 'It's right here.' The boy in the mirror was in fact holding the Philosopher's Stone, a gem of many shifting colors. He then slipped the Stone into his robes, and Harry, in the real world, felt something heavy and cool settle into his pocket.  
  
"So? What do you see?" Quirrel demanded.  
  
"I...I see Ron and I in the Infirmary. He came with me, and he survived getting attacked by McGonagall's chess set. He looks really happy-"  
  
"Liar." Voldemort's voice drifted oddly from behind Quirrel's head. "You saw the Stone. Where...is it?"  
  
"In my pocket," Harry replied, smugly. "And you're not getting it." He whirled, dashing away from Quirrel and reaching into his robe to pull out his wand. "OW!" The wand was scalding to the touch; Harry was sure he'd have blisters from touching it for even that split second. His wand, however, fell to the floor with a loud clatter.  
  
"What...is this? A wizard...without a wand? How...hopeless." Voldemort was again facing Harry, moving slowly towards him. "I...feel sorry for you, Harry. Quirrel!" Quirrel raised his wand, at an odd angle, given his position, and Voldemort shouted, "Avada Kedavra!" Harry saw the green flash of light, and heard something over a loud roaring-a sound like a sword cutting through air. There was a scream over the roaring, and suddenly Voldemort-Quirrel was nearly on top of him.  
  
"HOW? How could you survive?" Harry tried to struggle away, and as he did, three leaves, scorched black, fell from his robs to the ground. The dark wizard saw them, and his face snapped back to a calm facade. "Of course. The leaves of the Phoenix flower will...draw the power of curses unto...itself. But its power is spent, Harry. Avada...kedavra!" The flash of green light was more intense this time, and Harry could feel something drawing at him; he felt something pass very close to his face. But the light faded, and Voldemort appeared livid with rage. "What...power...do you have, Harry Potter...to allow you...such protection?"  
  
"There are people who love me!" Harry snapped, and his was on his feet, running away from the dark wizard bonded to his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Something-the memory of Dumbledore, perhaps?-drew him towards the Mirror. And behind him, he heard Voldemort scream, and heard Quirrel's voice, steeped in rage, shout:  
  
"Avada Kedavra!" The flash of light was blinding; Harry was thrown forward, felt the nick of a blade against the back of his neck, but above it all heard a scream of rage, fear, and pain.  
  
As Harry slipped into unconsciousness, perhaps death, he thought of Sirius, lost and angry with the world, and hoped that whatever was hurting him would get better. It was the best he could hope for.  
  
*  
  
Harry snapped awake, flailing among the sheets in his bed. A calming hand pressed on his chest, and the soothing voice of Dumbledore rumbled through the room.  
  
"Calm yourself, Harry."  
  
"But the Stone-Quirrel! He was trying to steal the Stone, and...Vol-You-Know-Who! Professor!"  
  
"Harry, calm down. I know. However, you do not need to worry any longer. You have proven extremely lucky tonight. Neville told me about your journey. It is a rare child who would willingly journey into the heart of danger to spare his friend the pain. And the strength of character you showed facing the Boggart-"  
  
"Was that what that horrible creature was?" Harry asked, nervously. "It...looked like Sirius. And he told me...he didn't care about me any more..."  
  
"Come, now, Mr. Potter. The Boggart preys on your fears and worries, drawing energy from your terror. I imagine Hermione may have had a hand in your studies this year, that you were able to fight off the Boggart."  
  
"Professor, what happened in that last chamber? I remember looking in the mirror-"  
  
"Ah. A wonderful enchantment. I dared not tell anyone the secret of finding the Stone, but I felt...it was right to tell you of the Mirror. Why do you think Quirrel could not draw the Stone from the Mirror, yet you could?"  
  
"I don't know, Professor. I...all I could think about was getting the Stone before Quirrel could get it. It was really important that I find it."  
  
"And what did Quirrel want?"  
  
"He wanted to get the Stone and give...he wanted to give it to Vo-He-Who-M-"  
  
"Call him Voldemort, Harry. You looked him in the face; it is right to call him by his name."  
  
"All right. Quirrel and Vol-Voldemort wanted to use the Stone for some other purpose. And I...I just had to have it, to keep it from them."  
  
"Exactly. You may very well rival Miss Granger in some respects, Harry."  
  
"But Professor! Voldemort-he tried to curse me. I don't-why aren't I dead?"  
  
"Well, Harry. The curse Voldemort used on you-the Killing Curse-cannot be blocked or reversed. The only way to shield its effects is to transfer them upon something else. The phoenix is a useful creature to have, as it can take the full brunt of a Killing Curse without many ill effects. And the Phoenix flower's leaves...when a curse is cast, the leaves draw its power into themselves, negating the power of the curse. Normally, phoenix leaves can fight any curse, but the Killing Curse...the leaves' power could only help you once."  
  
"But he cursed me again, Professor."  
  
"Ah." Dumbledore gave Harry a knowing wink, and then continued. "I imagine that some other power protected you, Harry. I have heard of another person who survived the Killing Curse through a similar situation, and I think the reasons are the same."  
  
"Neville?"  
  
"Indeed. And you survived for the same reason he did-love. One's friends, family, can grant a great deal of protection to him against evil. But this power is weak compared to the power of the ultimate curse. Only the ultimate show of love could protect one from that dread magic." Dumbledore glanced at another bed, a small smile on his lips. "I heard tell that a young man put himself in danger to allow you to penetrate the maze further, and that a young woman placed herself in risk of punishment so that your journey could begin. It seems, Harry, that there are people who love you a great deal. And that love lent strength to Neville's gift, allowing it to protect you a second time."  
  
"But Professor-there was a third curse." Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Ah. That, Harry, is explained far more simply. Magic is a great deal like light, sometimes. Some magic can be absorbed, refracted, reflected. And you, Harry, responded to very good instincts by running towards the Mirror of Erised. That magic mirror drew the magic of Voldemort's curse to it, and hurled it back at him. I am uncertain," he said in response to Harry's unasked question, "whether Voldemort truly lived when you faced him, so I do not know if the curse killed him. It did, however, destroy the man whose body he shared. I find it troubling, however, that the mirror was destroyed, as was the Stone. It seems that the magic of the Killing Curse is potent enough to even negate spells that are meant to be eternal. A terrible weapon, indeed." Then Harry remembered other things about the evening.  
  
"Professor, Professor Quirrel said that Remus is...a werewolf. Is that true?" Dumbledore nodded, his face reflecting far more gravity than it had a moment ago.  
  
"Yes. Since he was five, Remus Lupin has lived under that curse. It is a terrible burden upon him; do not give him pity or hate, Harry, or you would risk adding to that burden. Yes, Harry, your parents do know, as does Sirius. I believe they have greatly helped his trips through his cursed life. I hope that you too, will give him aid."  
  
Harry nodded, mulling the information over in his mind. A number of things made more sense to him, yet he felt that some were still beyond his grasp. And then, Voldemort's words rose again in his mind.  
  
'Perhaps I can finally kill at least one of the children I sought to destroy so long ago.'  
  
"Professor? Voldemort said he had tried to kill me before. Why? And why did he feel the need to do so again?"  
  
Dumbledore's face fell. He glanced to his left, as if consulting with a close friend. With a heavy sigh, he nodded his head. "Yes, Harry, I believe you must hear this. But so must Mr. Longbottom. Tomorrow morning, Harry, I will see you both in my office, and we will discuss this. Now...you must rest."  
  
*  
  
Harry half-awoke in the middle of the night to a voice. Sirius. His heart leapt, and he tried to call out to his godfather, but his body wouldn't respond. So he settled back to listen.  
  
"What are you doing here? Don't you have better things to do? Or people?"  
  
"Padfoot? What do you-"  
  
"I don't want to see you, Moony. I've had enough pain this last year *without* having to deal with you right now. Okay? If we're both at James' sometime, maybe we'll find a chance to *discuss*."  
  
"And that's another thing. You aren't serious, are you?"  
  
"Of course I am. Who else would I be?"  
  
"That's a petty response and you know it. I've lived there for twelve years-"  
  
"It might have been prudent to think about that *before* you shacked up with *Snivellus*."  
  
"Padfoot, you don't understand-"  
  
"Yeah, I don't understand why *anyone* would find *Snape* attractive! Look, just leave, and I won't call Poppy."  
  
"Paddy-"  
  
"Sirius. You can't call me that anymore."  
  
Harry didn't remember falling asleep after that, and later wondered if he'd actually dreamed the whole thing.  
  
*  
  
"Harry. Neville." Both boys were sitting in Dumbledore's office, trying to keep their attention off of the contraptions that dominated it. Gears, scales, and machines with no visible purpose, as well as the portraits of former headmasters, most of whom who were sleeping, covered the walls. "I have, rather unjustly, kept this information to myself, despite its...direct involvement with yourselves. You see, many years ago, eleven, in fact, I set out to hire a new teacher of Divination. I have to admit that I did not have much confidence; my best prospect was only considered because of her...distinguished lineage. It seemed to be a mistake, until the very end of the interview. This woman entered a trance, and spoke a prophecy, a true prediction. I...this prophecy was very hopeful, and...it involved one of you two."  
  
"Which one?" Harry asked.  
  
"We were never sure until afterwards. You see... 'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...' Both of you were born in the end of July, and, well...your parents each fit the requirements." Professor Dumbledore folded his hands. "There was a spy who heard some of that prophecy, and determined to keep it from every coming true, Voldemort sought to destroy the both of you."  
  
Neville was sitting in his seat, stunned. Harry found his mind whirling. But suddenly, Neville stood up violently, knocking his chair aside.  
  
"Then why did *my* parents die?" he demanded, tears already forming in his eyes. "You say Voldemort wanted both of us dead; why did he attack my family and not Harry's? It's not fair!"  
  
"Neville. Mr. Longbottom...Voldemort wanted to handle this personally, and he had a choice. Perhaps he could have chosen to track down the Potters first...although Sirius Black was one hell of a Secret-Keeper, and it would have been hard. Maybe he wanted to try the job that should have been easier. Or maybe he thought you were a bigger threat. But one thing is-was for certain. We thought that your scar made you the focus of this prophecy, indicated that Voldemort saw you as an equal. But now...Harry, why didn't you try to defend yourself from Voldemort?"  
  
Harry flushed as the headmaster turned his attention onto him; he felt like he was being accused of something. "I...my wand felt hot, like it was burning."  
  
"Correct. It seems that Sibyll's prophecy is not as simple as we believed. For as Neville's scar marks him as an equal of the Dark Lord, so does your wand. Sharing a core, your wands connect you and Voldemort in a way he surely understands." Dumbledore sighed, turning to the window behind his desk. "I think both of you should understand the danger you will be in during the coming years. You saw tonight that Voldemort is not yet gone from this world. He shall return, and you know that as long as you two live, you will be a threat to his power." He gave both boys a very sad look. "It is a terrible burden to place upon children of your age...but necessary. To know that Voldemort has returned, in some form or another, means it is important that you know this." He reached into his desk, and removed two small pieces of parchment. "Here is a gift that I believe will be a great help. If ever you need help, you must write a name on the paper, the name of the person you would like to contact. And then, the message you write on the paper will be transported to that person instantly. You may someday have a great need for this, you know."  
  
As Harry stared at the paper, Neville took his sheet and scribbled something on it. Suddenly, glowing letters were floating in the air in front of Dumbledore. For some reason, Harry couldn't read them, but Dumbledore nodded.  
  
"Yes, Neville. It is a very good idea. Ah, and I believe that it is time for our end-of-the year feast." Harry froze halfway up from his seat.  
  
"Professor? How long have I been...er, out?"  
  
"Just under a week, Harry. You did have a rather unfortunate experience in that chamber. I...your friends should be at the feast, and quite glad to see you. Go along now."  
  
*  
  
Harry almost missed Draco's glance as he entered the Great Hall. The blond boy caught his eyes, inconspicuously, gave a small nod, and then returned to chatting with the other Slytherins. The implication was clear: we are not friends when others can see, but I'm glad you're not dead. The flying tackle he got from Hermione, too, was unmistakable.  
  
"Harry! I was so worried when you got into the infirmary because Dumbledore wouldn't tell anyone *anything*, and Ron and Neville didn't know enough to know what was wrong, and I was spending every day in the library researching and Madam Pomfrey was starting to threaten to not let me into the infirmary, saying she didn't need a consultation, no matter where I found-"  
  
"Thanks, Hermione. You're great. Now...could you let go?"  
  
"Oh." Hermione blushed, releasing her hold on Harry. "Well, come on, everyone wants to know what happened. I mean, we all know you went in there alone, and you came back out, but...is it true that Professor Quirrel-?"  
  
"Attention, please. I think we would like to begin this feast. First of all, there is the announcement of the points. Ravenclaw, two hundred thirty-two points. Gryffindor, two hundred ninety-three points. Slytherin, three hundred fifteen points. And Hufflepuff, the winners of this year's House Cup, with four hundred twelve points." He nodded at the Hufflepuff table, whose students clapped loudly. "But there is one other point. There is a great deal of speculation as to what happened a week ago behind the doors of the third-floor corridor. I imagine that many of you have heard a great deal about it, and while I am not going to tell you anything more, I would like to note three students whose actions have made a great difference in what happened there.  
  
"First, Ron Weasley, whose skills at chess let him win a game against a chess set enchanted by none other than Professor McGonagall, deserves praise for his courage and self-sacrifice in playing.  
  
"Neville Longbottom, too, deserves praise for wisdom and good judgment in the face of danger and painful choices.  
  
"And Harry Potter...Harry Potter took chances when none would listen, led bravely through darkness and madness, and faced his greatest fears alone save for the strength of his own heart." Dumbledore gazed around the Hall, smiling at the Gryffindor table. "Godric Gryffindor believed that the bravest would receive the benefit of his education, and we can see in Harry and his companions great bravery, the virtue he held about all others. Like the other qualities of Hogwarts: intelligence, diligence, and...*creativity*, it is to be respected, and honored. A round of applause, please."  
  
The clapping was deafening, and although the Slytherin students didn't clap, Harry thought he saw Draco give a tight smile.  
  
*  
  
And then they packed up, and Harry soon found himself on the train back home. Ron, Hermione, and Neville shared a compartment with him, chatting most of the way. Ron forced Harry to agree to come to his house for a little while during the summer ("Mum'd love to meet you; I've talked enough about you in letters home, she says."), and Hermione elicited solemn promises from all three boys to study for the upcoming year ("What with your going crazy and all of this running around saving the world, you barely got *any* time to study!"). Neville just gave Harry a brief hug as the trip reached its conclusion, and handed him a small drawstring bag ("If you have more nightmares, Harry. And...feel free to share it. It's not harmful, and I'm sure you know some people who might need it.")  
  
It was far too soon when Harry stepped off the platform, and saw his parents and Sirius standing there. His godfather had a strained smile on his face, and his parents just looked happy, so Harry went to them with a shout, lugging his baggage behind him as quickly as he could manage. Home. He was happy to be there, but he suspected it wouldn't prove as exciting as Hogwarts. But perhaps it was for the best. 


End file.
